


Passion's Daughter

by Merkwurdigliebe



Series: The Morlock Chronicles [2]
Category: Dark Age of Camelot (Video Game)
Genre: Arthurian, Bisexual Female Character, Epic, Epic Battles, F/F, F/M, Historical Fantasy, Interspecies Relationship(s), Mild Sexual Content, Original Character(s), Strong Female Characters, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-03-27 14:53:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 69,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19015156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkwurdigliebe/pseuds/Merkwurdigliebe
Summary: An orphaned girl – with roots in two formerly warring realms – trains to become a great warrior and tips the balance of power in the post-Arthurian realms of Midgard, Albion, and Hibernia.





	1. Prologue

> Oh muse! Sing in me, and through me tell the story  
>  of the girl born of love,  
>  a warrior skilled beyond measure,  
>  searching for her home…

* * *

            It was a dark and moonless night.  A gentle breeze blew through the forest and the call of an unseen nocturnal creature could be heard.  High atop a hill in southern Snowdonia there stood a lonely castle.  The unremarkable castle was quiet that night except for the footsteps of a few guards patrolling the ramparts.  One of the guards paused at the corner of his patrol and looked out into the darkness.  There was nothing to be seen.  However, had the guard’s eyes been keen enough, or had the moon been present that night he would have seen the intruder.

            In the valley below, a single, cloaked figure emerged from the nearby woods.  The intruder’s gait was quick and steady; the shadowy figure did not stop until it had reached the castle’s outer wall.  With delicate precision the intruder searched the wall for footholds for a moment before slowly ascending, pausing only to avoid detection by the guard that passed below on his patrol.

            Halfway up the castle wall, the intruder paused for a moment to look up and the hood of their cloak fell back revealing the soft features of a woman.  The woman’s small frame and strong grip would have allowed her to infiltrate almost any castle in the three realms, but her speed and well-practiced steps made it obvious that this was not her first visit Castle Hurbury.

            In the local language it was known as Caer Hurbury, and in the eighteen winters since The Fall it had become the loneliest outpost in Albion's Old Frontier.  The merchants and travelers in the caravans that frequented Caer Hurbury rarely gave the castle a second thought.  Many of the soldiers protecting the castle found it equally dull.  No army had attacked the castle in years, and – aside from the occasional wildlife that needed clearing out – few of the soldiers had seen conflict during their service to Lord Hurbury.  It was the perfect place to go if you wanted to forget.  It was also the perfect place to send someone when you wanted to forget about them, and if they happened to disappear no one would notice or care.  The woman who scaled the walls of Caer Hurbury that night was an Infiltrator – an assassin of Albion’s Guild of Shadows – and she was about to break into one of her own castles.

            The infiltrator halted her ascent again when she reached the top of the wall.  There she waited below the crenelle as another guard on the rampart above walked by.  Without a sound, the woman swung her body over the wall – her fingertips gently brushing the guard’s cloak.  Sensing a chill, the guard turned to look behind but saw nothing.

            The infiltrator kept to the shadows cast by the sconces that were found throughout the castle.  With practiced skill that spoke of her years of experience, she quickly made her way through the castle towards her quarry – all the while dodging several guards.  Finally the woman found herself at a familiar door in the quietest section of Castle Hurbury.  And as usual the door was open just a crack.

            With one hand resting on the pommel of her sword, the Albion Infiltrator pushed the door open and quietly stepped into the room.  The quarters were spartan save for a desk, a bed, and shrine to the Church of Albion's Christian god.  On the bed sat the cleric that the woman had come to see.  The infiltrator closed the door behind her and smiled at the cleric who had been holding her breath.

            “Thank God it’s you,” the cleric said as she blew out a relieved sigh.

            “You know that you never have to be afraid when I’m around, friend,” replied the infiltrator.  The cleric leapt to her feet and the two women clasped hands before embracing.

*****

            “The dreams have returned.” The cleric – a Briton woman like the infiltrator – had waited until after she and the infiltrator had broken bread together before breaking the news.  It was a tradition the two women had shared for over a decade, but this night their ceremony had been muted.  The cleric was quiet and the infiltrator suspected something was amiss with her friend.

            “Like they were before The Fall?” the infiltrator asked after a pause.

            “Aye.  But stronger than they have been in almost two decades.”  The cleric sighed and gently wrung her hands.  The cloaked woman before her sat down and tried to calm the cleric.  “I fear my time here may be coming to an end, my friend,” the cleric said.

            “Why?”  The female infiltrator looked curiously at the cleric who shrugged.  “Because of these visions?” 

            “I am not sure…  I do not know what they mean…”  The cleric trailed off and looked to her unlikely companion.  Whether the tired gaze was a silent request for support or from lack of sleep, the infiltrator did not know.  But the woman was experienced enough to recognize a lie when she heard one.

            “You _do_ know what they mean.” 

            The cleric stiffened and turned away at her friend’s words.  “Aye,” the cleric admitted after a long pause.  “But I fear the choice I must make.”  The Albion Infiltrator brushed the hair from her eyes and paused for many heartbeats before speaking.

            “My time here is ending as well,” the infiltrator finally admitted.

            “What?”  The cleric became concerned, but before she could ask, the infiltrator gently placed her fingers on the woman’s lips.

            “Something is happening in Camelot.  I know not what, but I can feel it.  There is evil spreading throughout the realms, and I fear for our dear homeland as well as our lives.”  The woman left the cleric’s side and stood up.  “But I must tell you something.  I have heard… rumors.  ‘Tis only whispers among my order, but I believe you and I alone hold the key to understanding the implications.”

            “What is it, Katherine?” the cleric asked furrowing her brow.

* * *

**oOo⌛oOo**

* * *


	2. Abaigeal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published May 31st, 2019

_Late sixth-century anno Domini._  
_Nearly sixty years after the death of King Arthur…_

            In the lands of southern Uppland near Fensalir Faste, two cloaked figures made their way across the snow-covered hills towards a small outpost.  The afternoon sun was obscured by overcast making the pair’s excursion difficult to detect.  Neither the forest creatures nor the soldiers occupying the outpost knew their territory was being violated.

            The two figures appeared to work in tandem – neither appeared to be the leader – and were both clad in white cloaks.  At nearly five feet in height, the tallest of the pair crept from tree to tree with the steady, fluid gait of a trained assassin.  The shorter figure walked with an odd, animalistic gait, but still managed to keep up with the other. 

            The Fensalir ancillary outpost was used as an advanced warning outpost.  It was located at the top of a small hill and surrounded on three sides by a thick forest of colossal pines.  Occupying the outpost were three members of the realm of Albion.  A barrel-chested fighter clad in dull plate armor led the group along with a young woman wearing chain and a gaunt man in a fur-lined robe.

            From the thick trees to the south of the outpost, one of the figures pulled back the hood of her cloak to survey the outpost’s defenders.  Her light-brown hair was kept partially concealed behind her white hood.  The girl was human.  Her soft face imparted her inexperience and youth, but her normally gentle brown eyes revealed a burning passion.  For what, one could only guess.

As the girl observed the trio of defenders on the hill above, her companion crept up behind and bumped into her nearly knocking the girl over.

“Katzch!” the girl hissed.  A light, hissing laughter emanated from beneath the hood and its wearer pulled the hood back to reveal a valkyn woman-child.  The Valkyn were a primitive, cat-like race; loyal to their allies in Midgard, but mischievous.  Many were also fearless – if not particularly elegant – warriors such as the young Katzch.

            The valkyn kitten, like her friend, was clad in a leather armor lined with metal studs.  The studded leather armor afforded only light protection but was infused with a white substance allowing the two girls – with help from their white cloaks – to easily blend in with early winter snow.

Katzch drew her two weapons, squatted next to her companion and watched.  She tried to say something but the human girl quickly clamped her hand over her snout and hushed her with a gesture.  The valkyn pouted and examined her weapons.  The claw greave was bright and shiny despite its repeated use.  The valkyn attached it to her left wrist and gripped the other weapon known as “Kelgor’s Axe.”  Named for the god of war Katzch followed, Kelgor’s Axe was a misnomer; it was less and axe and more of a double-ended scythe.  The metal itself had been stained red in its forging and radiated heat whenever Katzch gripped it.  The young valkyn fidgeted impatiently for her friend’s signal.

            The human girl watched the movements of the three outpost defenders for many breaths as she studied their movements.  Drawing her twin blades – one a fine steel, the other gleaming with a muted green hue – she waited for the perfect moment.  When the three defenders were furthest apart, the human girl nodded to her companion. 

            Dashing up the hill, the girl charged straight at the robed mage.  The two attackers were on top of the Albion defenders before any of them could react.  The girl took the pommel of her short sword and planted it squarely in the mage’s left temple knocking him unconscious before engaging the only female of the group. 

The terrified woman drew her shield and mace and braced for the attack.  The girl worked her twin blades at blinding speed as she tried to get past the woman’s defenses.  After her initial assault, the girl hopped back step in order to give herself the opportunity to rethink her technique.  The girl’s opponent – a cleric – thought she saw an opportunity and swung her mace at the girl who easily evaded the attack.

            Nearby, Katzch had leapt on the other Albion fighter with maniacal ferocity.  The valkyn had left a dozen deep slashes in the fighter’s shield before the bearded warrior had managed to unsheathe his sword.  Parrying or evading all of his attacks, the kitten bared her teeth in a wicked grin which gave the man a frightful start.  The fighter gritted his teeth and executed a wide slash that forced Katzch to evade to the left, leaving herself open to the fighter’s shield.  The edge of the shield caught Katzch on the shoulder.  Seeing his opportunity, the fighter lunged, putting the valkyn on the defensive.

            Katzch’s human companion was fairing only somewhat better.  Handling her blades with skill – but lacking experience – she had regained the upper-hand against the Albion cleric.  The cleric fought off her opponent’s twin blades, but was being steadily pushed back towards the wall of the outpost.  The Albion woman became desperate and tried to call forth the magic bestowed by her god.  Seeing an opportunity in the cleric’s hesitation, the girl flipped her left blade over in her hand and knocked the shield out of the way.  With her path clear she pushed the cleric up against the stone wall, pinning her by the wrists.  The cleric tried to kick her opponent, but the girl kneed the older woman hard in the stomach.  Releasing her weapon, the cleric dropped to the ground and heaved.  After a few moments the cleric rolled over to face her attacker.  The girl’s hood had fallen back revealing her long, wavy hair as she stood over her conquest.  The cleric looked up at her in wide-eyed terror as she tried to catch her breath.

            Meanwhile, Katzch had led her opponent to the trees.  The heavily armored fighter gave pursuit and tried to slash as the valkyn’s legs when he stumbled and went tumbling down the hill.  Katzch turned around in time to see the fighter’s misfortune and leapt over him as he rolled past her and landed face first into a tree.  His plated helmet being little protection against the trunk of the mighty spruce, the fighter groaned and slid down the trunk into the snow drift at its base.  The valkyn poked at the fighter who did not respond.  Realizing there was no time to deal with the fighter any longer, she trotted off back to see to her friend’s safety.

            Katzch returned to the outpost in time to see her friend win her fight.  She watched as the human girl reached down and grabbed the cleric’s mace.  The Albion woman panted and closed her eyes waiting for the finishing blow, but the girl merely turned and hurled the weapon into the woods.  Looking down at her defeated foe, she cast a scornful look.  The valkyn appeared alongside her friend and asked a question in their native tongue.

            “Why does Abbie do that?”  Katzch’s voice was high-pitched but her tone was soft and contained a great deal of concern.  Abaigeal did not respond.  She continued to stare at the frightened cleric’s face as her rage continued to build.  The servant of the Albion god could only cough as she tried to recover from the assault.  “Abbie?” Katzch repeated. 

            Behind them, the mage had regained consciousness.  Katzch’s keen ears twitched and she turned around in time to see the avalonian mage begin his spell.  “Abbie!” she cried grabbing her friend’s arm.  Abaigeal spun around to face the Albion mage and her eyes grew wide in fear.  A bright orange ball of flame grew between his hands and he started to release the fireball. 

Abaigeal was about to push Katzch out of the way and dive for cover when an arrow struck the mage.  The man clutched his chest where the arrow hit him and the spell misfired sending the bolt of fire flying just over Abaigeal’s head as she and her friend hit the snow.  What followed was a tremendous explosion as the side of the Albion outpost was sheared off and the rest of the structure engulfed in flame.

Dazed, Abaigeal trembled as she stood up.  She looked to where the arrow had come from to see a tall figure dressed in dark green standing on a small hill about a hundred paces away.  The girl squinted.  Her heart began beating faster when she saw the man’s pointed ears and pale skin.  The elf lowered his bow and stood there staring back at her until he cracked a wry smile and disappeared behind the hill.  Katzch tugged on Abaigeal’s cloak.

            “Abbie!  We have to leave!”  Abaigeal turned to her friend who was pointing at the weaponless cleric running towards Fensalir Faste.  Far in the distance, with her keen eyes, Katzch was able to see the company of soldiers who had been alerted to the trouble by the explosion.  Abaigeal watched the cleric for a moment then turned back to where the elf had stood.  After a moment she pulled her hood up and grabbed the valkyn’s hand.

            “Aye,” she said.  With that, they disappeared into the forest and made their way back to safety.

*******

            As night fell and the stars poured over the Midgard sky, Abaigeal and Katzch approached Vindsaul Faste – the frontier keep leading back to their home.  The valkyn watched her friend with great concern.  Abaigeal was unusually quiet and had been ever since their fight with the Albion patrol.  Katzch could not help but wonder if it had something to do with the woman Abaigeal had spared or the archer that had saved them.  The pair relaxed and slowed their pace as they approached the colossal doors of Vindsaul Faste.  The valkyn kitten stopped for a moment and watched her human friend continue before she ran to catch up to her.  Tugging on her arm, Katzch pestered her best friend.

            “What’s wrong, Abbie?”  Abaigeal did not respond.  Katzch grew frustrated.  “Why did Abbie let that woman go?”  In their few covert strikes against the Albion forces in the Midgard frontier, Katzch had never seen Abaigeal act like that before.  Katzch stood in front of the human girl forcing a confrontation.  Abaigeal stopped and stared at the snow-covered ground.  Her valkyn friend pushed back the hood of Abaigeal’s cloak and ran her palm over her cheek.  Abaigeal nuzzled her friend’s hand and kissed it.

            “I’m sorry, Katzch.  I-I didn’t want to hurt her.”

            “But why?” Katzch began, but her question was cut off as Abaigeal shook her head.  Katzch wondered if Abaigeal did not want to tell her why, or did not know why.  The two of them had known each other since they were barely old enough to speak – Katzch considered Abaigeal a sister, and more – and Katzch knew that Abaigeal would never keep secrets from her.  Katzch smiled warmly at her friend and tried to make her feel better with a hug.  Releasing her friend and stepping back, the young valkyn held Abaigeal at arm’s length.

            “Who was the man with the bow?” Katzch asked.  Abaigeal tensed and she saw the nearby guard eyeing them suspiciously.  Huddling close, Abaigeal spoke softly to her friend.

            “That was an elf,” she whispered excitedly.

            “An elf?” Katzch said a little too loudly for Abaigeal’s liking.  “That wasn’t a Frost Elf, Abbie,” the valkyn replied referring to the friendly race of elves that hailed from Midgard.  Katzch’s volume had dropped as she tried to understand what they had seen.

            “No, not a Niflheim Elf.  An Ardelf,” Abaigeal tried to explain.  Katzch’s brow furrowed as she tried to understand.  “Förnäm alf.”  Abaigeal saw no comprehension in her friend’s face.  “From Hibernia,” she finally said.

            “Where Abbie’s mommy was from?” Katzch gasped.  Abaigeal hushed her again.

            “Aye!”

            “But-?”

            “I don’t know,” Abaigeal said.  “Let’s get inside.  I’m getting cold.” 

*******

            Inside Vindsaul Faste, Abaigeal and the valkyn retired to the keep’s barracks.  The large, long room was kept warm by several hearths that lined the west wall.  The two girls found a quiet spot in the corner and settled in away from the crowd that occupied half the room.  As Abaigeal pulled off her cloak and began removing her armor, Katzch sat back in her cot and watched.

            A closer look of the girl’s face revealed her Celtic heritage.  Abaigeal had her mother’s thin nose and high cheeckbones, but it was her eyes that caused most people to look twice.  Abaigeal’s deep brown eyes were framed beautifully under her brow.  A few of Midgard’s men had found themselves staring into those eyes until the flat of Abaigeal’s blade on the side of their head reminded them of her temper. 

When Abaigeal won the struggle against her tunic, she dropped it to the floor revealing her Norse heritage.  Unlike most Celt women -- even at barely eighteen winters -- Abaigeal possessed a more than ample bosom.  Katzch grinned at her friend.  When Abaigeal saw the valkyn’s smile, she blushed slightly and tried to hide her chest under her arms.  Despite her efforts and the cloth shirt she always wore under her armor, Abaigeal could not conceal her maturing body.

            “Will you _stop_ that!” she scolded her friend, frowning.

            “Abbie is big!” Katzch leapt off the cot and gave her friend a big hug, feeling the bosom for herself.  Abaigeal pulled a thick fur blanket over her shoulders and wrapped them both up in it.  Over the last two winters, Abaigeal’s developing form had given Katzch no end of mirth as she teased her friend.

            “Quiet; someone will hear you!” Abaigeal admonished.  Katzch’s giggle was high-pitched like all valkyn.  Despite her anger, Abaigeal still found her friend – and all her quirks – endearing.  Abaigeal stood there holding her friend, took a deep, relaxing breath, and inhaled Katzch’s scent.  The smell of the valkyn girl’s fur always managed to cleanse Abaigeal’s mind of her troubles.

            Abaigeal settled down in the nearest cot.  Instead of taking the one next to Abaigeal’s, Katzch curled up alongside her friend on the same cot and pulled the fur blanket over both of them.  The nearest hearth was several paces away, but the two young Midgard defenders shared each other’s heat in order to stay warm.  Katzch snuggled up against her friend’s back.  Burying her snout in the back of Abaigeal’s neck, and wrapping her arm around her waist, Katzch was quickly purring like a sleeping kitten.

            Abaigeal wanted to wake her friend up, but knew it would do no good.  Katzch always purred when the two of them shared a bed, and Abaigeal found the sensation of the warm, furry, vibrating valkyn exhilarating – just not when she wanted to sleep.  The young girl accepted the prospect of a fitful night and lay awake for a while.

            Thoughts of the elf they had seen re-entered Abaigeal’s mind.  She remembered stories her aunt and uncle had told her.  Stories about Hibernia before The Fall, and how the Elves lived among the Celts, Lurikeens, and Firbolgs.  Her adoptive parents also told her how, after the forces of Albion had pierced their homeland’s protective keeps and wiped out Hibernia’s defenders, the Elves fled back behind The Veil – the magical barrier that shrouded the Elvish homeland from the rest of the world.  The elves were hunted down and slaughtered by the invading forces.  The only way for them to survive was to return to their ancestral lands and seal off all access by powerful magical wards.

            Abaigeal wondered where this elf had come from, and why he had come back.

* * *

**oOo⌛oOo**

* * *

            Sixteen years ago, in the old Blodfelag enclave northwest of Huginfel, the refugees of Hibernia enjoyed a break in the harsh Midgard winter.  Led by an old woman from Connla, nearly four hundred defenders and their families had fled to the Land of the Norse.  Midgard, wary of the presence of so many Hibernians in their land confined the refugees to the old fort formerly occupied by brigands.

            Some of the elders of the Midgard capital of Jordheim welcomed the enemy of Albion, but enough of them resisted.  They wanted to send the defenders back to their own lands to face their own problems, but the leader of the refugees, Lady Eileen of Connla, convinced them that they would be put to death immediately if sent back to their occupied lands.  Albion spared most of those living in Hibernia as long as they did not resist, but all of Tir na Nog’s defenders had been wiped out as an example to the population.

            Still the leaders of Midgard fought among themselves over what to do with the many Celts, Lurikeens, and Firbolgs that now resided in their home.  In the meantime, the people of Midgard learned to accept their new allies.  Some former enemies even became friends and the two cultures learned from each other.  But such winning of hearts and minds did not take place overnight.

            Today a woman, bundled tightly in her cloak, approached the guarded refugee camp.  It had been two years since the community of Hibernian refugees had come to live next to her home in Huginfel, and this was the first time she had brought herself to see what had fallen on her doorstep.

            The woman approached the main gate cautiously.  The camp was not a prison.  The barriers defining its borders were simple fences rather than high, wooden walls.  The inhabitants scraped out a living within and were supplied with the minimal means to live, but they were not allowed to leave just yet.

            The two trolls charged with guarding the main gate to the compound eyed the woman and asked about her business within the Hibernian camp.  The woman pulled back her hood revealing her gently greying hair and showed the guards her assortment of healing supplies.  The smarter of the two trolls picked up her bag and scrutinized it carefully.  Seeing no contraband, he handed back the bag and restated his question.

            “What business you have here?” he asked in a thick, gravelly voice.  The male troll had never seen her here before even though he knew her as Huginfel’s best healer.

            “Just let me in, Groak,” she replied impatiently.

            “Can’t let you in.  Orders.”  The woman looked at Groak’s companion anxiously, then pulled Groak’s head down to her level by the ear and whispered something to him.  The troll’s eyes registered confusion.  The second guard did not like being left out.

            “What lady say, Groak?” he asked suspiciously.  Groak thought for a second.

            “She say mutton on sale: one copper.  You go now, Smed.”  The large troll named Smed dropped his axe and ran towards Huginfel faster than a troll should be able.  Groak just chuckled, but the woman was in no mood.  The troll opened the gate for her and allowed her to pass.

            Inside, the woman bore witness to more than she had expected.  The refugees of Hibernia toiled away on their small plot of land as if their lives had not changed.  Everywhere someone was performing a task to better their life.  Apart from the lack of weapon and armor smiths, the woman felt she could have landed in the middle of the old city of Tir na Nog.  The people even appeared happy – or at least content – in their new situation.  That is they did until they saw the newcomer.

            Most of the people stopped in their tracks, and all eyes were fixed on the middle-aged woman as she surveyed the Hibernians.  After a few uncomfortable moments, she approached a man she believed could help her.

            “I’m looking for the person who sent this scroll.”  Her common tongue was rough, but understandable.  The celt took the parchment from her and read it.  Nodding, he motioned towards the center of the encampment and walked her to a large hut.  Inside she saw several people celebrating.  The center of their attention was a young child of about two years of age.  The woman watched the festivities for several moments and studied the child.  Her presence went unnoticed for a long time until the child saw the newcomer.

            Smiling, the little girl waved and greeted the newcomer enthusiastically.  It was then that the rest of the people took notice.  A sandy-haired celt released his female companion and approached the woman who looked up at him.

            “Are you Liam?” she asked.

            “Aye,” he replied hopefully, seeing the scroll in her hands.

            “My name is Lena,” the norsewoman said as the little girl ran up to her and held out her hands.  Lena picked up the smiling child and held her in her arms scrutinizing her.  She sensed something familiar in the girl.

            Looking back at the man called Liam she asked, “Who is this?”

*******

            “I’m sorry, Lena, but that is all we know,” the blonde celt woman said.  The young woman – whom Liam introduced as Romana – tried to reassure Lena as she considered their story.  Their story of how Abaigeal’s father had come to their village in Hibernia claiming to be the son of Lena’s missing sister, Anora, brought tears of both joy and sorrow to Lena’s eyes.  She did not want to believe it at first, however, the return of her sister’s ring – Abaigeal’s birthright – left little doubt in Lena’s mind that Anora was indeed gone.

            Lena, Liam, and Romana watched the two-year-old Abaigeal play quietly on Lena’s lap as the adults talked about her.  Lena looked down at the girl and marveled at how her family had returned to her after all these years.

* * *

**oOo⌛oOo**

* * *


	3. Rayne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published June 7th, 2019

            Nestled in the heart of West Svealand, the town of Huginfel was the commercial center of western Midgard.  Although slightly larger than Audliten, the town was small compared to the Midgardian capital of Jordheim, but it still managed to serve the surrounding area.  As Abaigeal and Katzch approached Huginfel from the north, they noticed a lot more activity than usual taking place in their home town.

            Huginfel had its fair share of adventurers during the day, but this morning saw a crowd that nearly doubled the town’s population.  Abaigeal and Katzch stopped to watch.  Throughout the town the newcomers and travelers were shopping at the market and smiths, conversing with the town elders and trainers, or sparring.  A few archers – hunters – were practicing their aim on a set of targets at the edge of town near the two girls.

            Midgard Hunters were normally a reclusive folk, but Abaigeal noticed that several of them were engaged in a competition of sorts with a handful of rangers, their Hibernian equivalents.  Abaigeal and Katzch watched as an older ranger hit his target nearly dead center before giving up his position to a hunter.  The young huntress nodded respectfully and drew her bow, taking a deep breath before releasing her arrow.  Abaigeal let out a sigh as the arrow struck the edge of the target, nearly missing it.  Nearby, a chuckle was heard.  All eyes turned to glare at the source. 

            Behind the archers sat a pair of diminutive mages.  The lurikeen, an eldritch from Hibernia, tried to hide his grin, but it was too late.

            “Shut up, Torryl,” scolded Cillis – the kobold runemistress sitting next to him – as she shoved him off his perch with her boot.  “You couldn’t hit that if you were sitting on it!”

            “Feck off!”  The lurikeen brushed the dirt off his robe and waved his staff menacingly at his companion.  The two were a common sight in Huginfel, and it was not their first argument Abaigeal had witnessed.  Cillis and Torryl were notorious.

            “Then do it,” Cillis replied with an exaggerated curtsy.  “Show us thy great skills, oh mighty eldritch.”  The blue-skinned kobold concluded her taunt with a wink.

            “Why don’t you go stand in front of it, and I’ll show you!”

            “I may as well; it’d be the safest place to stand.”

            Torryl growled at the young runemistress and the two faced off, nose-to-nose.  Abaigeal held her breath fearing this would be the incident that would finally set them off.  The archers nearby also watched closely although more amused than concerned.  Katzch scratched her head in confusion.

            “You there!  Valkyn!” Torryl barked turning to Abaigeal and her companion.  Katzch pointed to herself questioningly even though she was the only valkyn in the entire village.  “Yes, you, girl.  Take this,” Torryl quickly reached for the bright red sash around Cillis’ robe and yanked it off, “and tie it to that tree.”  The lurikeen eldritch indicated the oak tree beyond the archery targets.

            “By, Hel, you arsehead!  Give that back!”  Cillis tried in vain to cinch up her robe.

            “I need something to aim at and it may as well remind me of you.”

            Katzch hesitantly took the sash then ran as fast as she could to the far tree.  After tying the colorful sash around the tree she backed far away to avoid the coming spell.  Torryl walked past the crowd of archers with Cillis close behind.

           “You owe me for that sash, you son-of-an-ogre.”  Abaigeal had never seen the kobold quite this angry before.  Torryl simply scoffed at his companion and prepared his spell.  The lurikeen eldritch closed his eyes and took a deep breath to clear his mind.  After a few tense moments, Torryl held out his staff and wove the incantations with his right hand.  The air shimmered around him and a dark sphere of energy began to form. 

            “Ye may want to back away a little further, girl!” Cillis yelled to Katzch, breaking the silence.  With Torryl’s concentration broken, the spell died.  Cillis smirked, but Torryl did not give her the satisfaction of a sideways glance.

            Taking another deep breath, Torryl began his spell and again the ball of black energy formed in front of the lurikeen eldritch.  Standing behind Torryl, Cillis watched her companion’s fingers weave intricately, a tremendous smile across her face.  The Nil Bolt in front of Torryl grew in size, but before Torryl could release the spell, Cillis slapped him gently on the rear.  Torryl flinched and his magical bolt flew wide. 

            “Katzch!” Abaigeal yelled.  Katzch dived for the ground.  The minor bolt was in no danger of hitting her, but Katzch was not about to take a chance.  The bolt of energy sailed overhead missing Katzch and the sash around the tree by a several yards.  The archers who had been watching closely enjoyed the laugh and returned to their practice. 

            Torryl fumed and Cillis wrapped an arm over his shoulder.  “Brilliant, old man, just brilliant,” she said smugly.

            “I’m thirty-seven, I’m not old!”

            Cillis ignored him and turned back to Katzch who was brushing herself off.  “Thanks, lass!  Could ye return my sash, please?”  Katzch nodded and retrieved the bright red strip of cloth from the tree.

*******

            The excitement over, Abaigeal and Katzch continued through the town, weaving their way through the crowds until they found their destination.  Near the center of town lay the hut that served as the home and business of the town healer.

            “Uncle Liam!  Auntie Romana!” Abaigeal cried when she and Katzch entered the hut.  Liam rushed to greet Abaigeal with Romana following not far behind.  Abaigeal embraced the tall, sandy-haired celt.  It had been nearly a month since the girl had seen her adoptive parents.  Behind them, the foursome heard someone clear their throat.

            “I missed you, too, Aunt Lena!”  Abaigeal grinned as she went to embrace the elderly woman.  Lena hobbled over to her grandniece and set her cane aside as she felt the child’s arms around her.

            “Too excited for an old woman, are you?” Lena chided humorously.  Katzch sidled up to Abaigeal and smiled at the others.  Lena cast a disapproving look at the valkyn.  Abaigeal released her great aunt and returned her attention to Liam and Romana.

            “When did you get back?”

            “This morning,” Romana replied. 

            “You didn’t think we’d miss our favorite niece’s birthday, did you Abbie?”  Liam added, smiling deviously.  Abaigeal had forgotten. 

            “Aye,” Romana added, seeing the excited look on Abaigeal’s face, “eighteen winters; no longer our little girl anymore.  It’s a special time…for all of us.”  Abaigeal thought the last remark an odd one.  The look in her Romana’s eyes told her that this time of year was indeed special, but not altogether happy.  Abaigeal knew why.

Abaigeal heard a shuffling from the back of the hut that brought her out of her musings.  Leaning to the side she saw a cloaked figure getting up from one of her great aunt’s chairs.  At nearly six feet, the figure towered over everyone, but appeared slim and agile.  Abaigeal gasped and Liam turned around to see what the excitement was.  The elf pulled his green hood back and smiled at the girl.  Abaigeal thought her heart had stopped as the elf’s lavender eyes seemed to look deep into her soul, as well as steal the words from her throat.  Liam chuckled softly to himself then cleared his throat to break the silence.

            “Abbie, I would like you to meet Rayne.”  Rayne approached the group and offered his hand to Abaigeal who took it after a moment’s pause.  His warm hand and smile augmented the effect the rest of him had on the girl.  Liam continued.  “Rayne is an old friend who traveled with us on our last journey to Hibernia.”

            “Y-you went to Hibernia?” Abaigeal asked, her uncle’s words finally bringing her out of her trance.  The name and the land seemed so exotic to Abaigeal.

            “Aye.  Rayne decided to return with us this time.”

            “Why?”

            “All in good time, Abaigeal,” Romana replied, deciding to end the questioning quickly.

            “Aye, Abbie,” Liam followed up.  “First I believe there is a celebration in order!”

            “Yay!” Katzch cheered.  “A party!”  Abaigeal laughed at her friend.

            “Now out the door, both of you,” ordered Liam.  “If you want the celebrations to go as planned, you had better keep an eye on the dwarves.  I hear they had to wrestle the ale from them again.”  Abaigeal smiled broadly and trotted out the door with Katzch in tow.  The four adults watched her leave.

            “What do you think, Rayne?” Liam asked.  The elf continued to stare out the door for a moment before turning to his friend.

            “She possesses the talent, Liam,” Rayne replied remembering the display he bore witness to the day before.  “And you’ve trained her quite well.”

            “She’s had a whole community as her teacher.”  Liam smiled proudly.

            “And as her family,” Romana added.

            “Do you think you can continue what we started?”  Liam waited eagerly for an answer.  Rayne shifted his focus to the old woman leaning on her cane behind the group.  Although she tried, Lena’s emotions could not be hidden.

            “I sense you harbor objections, m’lady.”  Rayne addressed the old norsewoman.

            “Liam is aware of my opinions.”  Lena locked her gaze with that of the elf’s.  Rayne waited for an explanation but received none. 

            “I can.  But I do not know if she can absorb enough before…”

            “She will surprise you, my friend,” Liam interrupted.  Rayne just smiled, and cast a thoughtful look towards his old friends.

*******

            Abaigeal’s birthday celebrations began before sundown and lasted well into the evening.  Many commented about the young woman’s remarkable stamina as she remained energetic throughout the night even after a few mugs of Dwarven ale.  Abaigeal was in high spirits.  The entire town had joined in the festivities.  All the races of Midgard were present as well as those of Hibernia. 

            Huginfel had become a diverse town in the last several winters.  Many of the Hibernian refugees from the Blodfelag camp had settled in the nearby town when they were allowed to leave.  The many races got along just as well as the indigenous peoples of Midgard did.  Aside from the occasional drunken fights, peace was the norm in Huginfel.  And today was even more special to the people.  Abaigeal’s existence had brought the people of Midgard and Hibernia together many years ago, and the celebration of the child of the two realms brought the people together once more.

            At the edge of town, a lone figure watched over the festivities from a distance.  The town’s central pyre cast an orange glow on the shadowy figure’s dark green cloak.  Although he did not reveal it, Rayne knew he was being watched.

            Abaigeal crept along the dark side of her and her aunt’s home several paces from where the elf was standing.  Having snuck away from the celebration easily – she found it easy to walk away unnoticed by a crowd of drunks – Abaigeal was determined to find out why the elf did not join in.

            The young mixed-blood woman leaned up against the side of the hut and watched Rayne intently.  The elf did not appear to move at all, not even to shift his weight.  Even though she could not see anything of him beneath the cloak, Abaigeal could still sense the elf.

            “You are not a Shadowblade, Abaigeal.”  The elf’s words caused Abaigeal to jump.  Rayne turned his head.  His lips curled into a wry smile.  Abaigeal could not ascertain his mood as his eyes were still hidden beneath the hood of his cloak.  Sensing her hesitancy, Rayne pulled his hood back for her.

            “I’m sorry, sir.  I, I…”

            “‘Tis alright, Abaigeal.”  Rayne examined the young woman and smiled warmly as he approached.  As he did, he noticed the young woman’s tension rising slightly.  “Where did you learn to do that?” he asked.  Abaigeal was not sure she knew what he meant.  “The shadows.”  He pointed to the shrouded side of the hut from where she came.

            “Oh.  I watched my friends.”

            “Who?”

            “S-shadowblades,” Abaigeal felt she had misbehaved somehow.  Shadowblades – the sneaks and assassins of Midgard – were adept at moving unseen, and were some of the most feared fighters in all the realms.  However there were some who found their underhanded methods dishonorable, even amongst their comrades in Midgard.  To be compared to a shadowblade was not always a compliment.

            Rayne decided not to make her uncomfortable and ended the line of questioning.  If he was going to extinguish the behavior, he would rather replace it with something else more constructive.  Abaigeal looked at him a moment then motioned towards the festivities. 

            “Why do you not join us?”

            “I do not think I would be welcome.”  Rayne said after a moment’s pause.

            “Nonsense!” Abaigeal exclaimed.  “There are no intolerances here in Midgard…”

            “It’s not Midgard I am worried about,” the elf interrupted.  Abaigeal chided herself for her hasty words.  Growing up Abaigeal had heard almost nothing about the Elves of her mother’s homeland.  What little conversation there was centered on their abrupt disappearance.  After the forces of Albion had swept through Hibernia, the Förnäm Elves – High Elves as some called them – abandoned their countrymen and returned to their homeland behind The Veil. 

            Some believed that the elves went into hiding rather than face the wrath of their Midgard cousins, the Frostalfs – Frost Elves.  It was believed that the two races would never get along even in the face of a common threat.  But those who claimed to know the Hibernian Elves best assured everyone that they were selfish cowards who cared nothing for their fellow Hibernians.  But with Rayne’s arrival, Abaigeal was beginning to doubt those stories.

            When the young half-celt woman looked down to avoid the elf’s eyes, she noticed his weapons.  A bit of the metal blades stuck out from their sheaths and glowed in the firelight.  They looked like they were forged of silver, but Abaigeal knew this to be impossible.  Silver blades would never last.  Rayne noticed the object of her attention and pulled his cloak back a little to give her a better look.

            The two weapons were nearly identical to each other.  Their blades measured almost as long as the elf’s arms and were as polished as the day they were forged.  The hilts were where the weapons differed.  The hilt of the left weapon contained the effigy of a stag’s head and was made of black material that looked like stone to Abaigeal.  The other weapon’s hilt was white and embossed with the relief of a tree branch. 

            “Your weapons,” Abaigeal hesitated.  “They’re…different.  I’ve never seen hilts like that.” 

            Rayne smiled at the compliment.  “Gifts from my family.  Very old; very special to me,” the elf replied.  Abaigeal continued to stare.  “And your own blades?” Rayne asked.  Abaigeal looked up and smiled weakly.  The young woman was still insecure in the presence of the exotic elf blademaster.  “May I see them?” Rayne asked breaking the awkward silence.

            “Wh-why?”  Abaigeal could not imagine why the elf would be interested in her boring old blades.

            “Consider it a fair exchange:  I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.”

            Abaigeal nearly choked and realized that the grinning elf did indeed understand the double meaning of his statement.  The young fighter unsheathed both blades and held them out for Rayne.  The elf approached and appeared to scrutinize the weapons.

            “They’re nothing special compared to yours,” she said.

            Rayne looked up.  “Nonsense.  They are both finely crafted weapons.”  Rayne looked at Abaigeal’s main blade.  It was a short sword, skillfully crafted of fine steel.  Rayne did not recognize the maker’s mark, but assumed that Huginfel’s blacksmith had put a lot of work into precisely matching it in both size and weight to Abaigeal’s off-hand blade.

            “But this,” the elf continued, indicating the second blade, “is interesting.”  Abaigeal beamed with pride.  Rayne carefully ran his finger over the metal comprising the blade.  Its muted green hue was not common in Midgard, and Rayne sensed an enchantment on the weapon.

            “It was my father’s sword,” Abaigeal said.  “It’s the only gift my parents left me before they died.”

            Rayne quirked and eyebrow.  “Not the _only_ gift they left you, Abaigeal”  The elf smiled and returned his gaze to the green sword.  “Does it have a name?”

            “None that I know of.  But it is magical.”

            “Really?  How so?” Rayne asked.

            “It’s not very powerful.  It’s not much of an offensive weapon, but it protects me.  Its magic helps me ward off blows easily.  Uncle Liam said it would serve me until I came of age and earned something stronger.”  Abaigeal could tell the elf was impressed, or at least pretending to be.  The young woman’s eyes drifted back to Rayne’s weapons.  Noticing her gaze, the elf grasped the left weapon where it hung, unsheathed it, and handed it to Abaigeal.  She could now see the shimmering blade in all its glory. 

            Slightly curved but missing the vicious barbs of a Hibernian crescent sword, the Elven blade was perfectly balanced.  The weapon felt almost natural in her grasp.  It was not so much silver, but a blue shimmering metal that Abaigeal had never seen before.  Abaigeal noticed runes carved on both sides of the blade.  She heard the elf unsheathe his second blade and noticed the carvings were completely different.  On the ivory-handled weapon were carvings of vines and other earthly themes, but no language.  She looked back at the sword she held and tried to read the runes without success.

            “Can you read those?” Rayne asked.  The broken silence startled Abaigeal.  She managed to steal her eyes from the sword.

            “No.  Is this…Elvish?”  Rayne nodded and Abaigeal squinted at the runes once more.  Stepping back a ways, she maneuvered the sword in her grasp and handled it like a seasoned veteran.  Rayne hid his amazement.  Embarrassed, Abaigeal flipped the sword around and handed it back to the elf.  “Their beauty complements each other.”  Rayne was amused by her remark.

            “You comment on the beauty of a weapon.”

            “What do you mean?”  Abaigeal was flustered and embarrassed.

            “It is nothing.  You have an eye for harmony, Abaigeal.  And you handle the weapon well, even though it was not meant for you.  Not traits normally associated with assassins.”  Rayne sheathed his weapons and tuned back to Abaigeal who was becoming uncomfortable.

            “I’m not an assassin,” she responded with near indignation.

            “You act like one, but you do not think like one.”  Rayne relaxed.  “You move as I do, Abaigeal.  Your whole body reveals to others that you are a Blademaster.  Has no one taught you this before?”  Abaigeal’s mind was swimming.  “I suppose it is alright to tell you why your aunt and uncle brought me here.  They wanted me to train you:  train you to be a Blademaster.”

            “Like my mother?” Abaigeal blurted.

            “Aye,” the elf said solemnly, “like your mother.”

            “But Uncle Liam has been training me to use two blades…”

            “As a ranger, your uncle can teach you to use two weapons,” Rayne interrupted, “but there is more to being a Blademaster than simply trying to stick your enemies with an extra sword.”  Rayne chuckled.  Abaigeal had heard so many stories about her mother.  To be like her was almost more than Abaigeal could fathom.  The young fighter was lost in thought when she heard voices approach.  Looking up she saw the elf already far away as a group of drunken celebrants approached her.  As she was dragged back to the festivities, Abaigeal wondered what was in store for her.


	4. Aeryk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published June 14th, 2019

            The city of Camelot lay nearly deserted.  Over the last several years the people began to flee to the adjacent lands as well as to those of the Isle of Avalon.  Those unfit to leave found themselves trapped in a situation from which there was no escape.  Camelot was a dying city, and it was taking Albion with it.

            “Lord J’nar is wasting precious resources on this mad campaign in Hibernia,” Councilman Mason proclaimed to his fellow members of the Round Table.  The rest of the council mumbled their opinions.  Since the fall of Hibernia much of Albion’s forces were charged with protecting the captured lands.  At first the people of Albion acknowledged the need for an occupying force, but over the years the citizens noticed many of their fighters failing to return.  The loss of soldiers coupled with the draining of many other resources caused many in the Albion council to question the leader of the occupation.  But Lord J’nar was not an easy man to say “no” to.

            Unconcerned with tales of J’nar’s cruelty towards the indigenous peoples, emissaries from Camelot traveled to J’nar’s castle in Hibernia to discern his need for more soldiers, food, ore, and lumber.  When they returned, they did not tell the council of the raping of the land under J’nar’s rule, but instead were complacent.  They told the council that J’nar did indeed need more resources for his campaign to covert Hibernia into a true ally of Camelot.

            “My Lords, we cannot allow J’nar to continue his pillage of Albion in favor of the Hibernian lands.  Who is the occupier here?”  Mason – a proud paladin and member of the Church of Albion – continued his speech to the complacent council.  “Who won this war?  I ask you this!”  Mason was becoming frustrated.  He felt he was the only one left in Albion that had not fallen under J’nar’s spell of promises of a rich and glorious Albion.

            “Albion won the war, Councilman.  That should have been obvious even to you.”  All heads turned to see the source of the insult.  A tall man in full armor entered the room.  Mason barely hid his disgust.

            “Of course we did, Lord Aeryk.”  Mason calmed his tone in order to avoid angering the newcomer.  Lord Aeryk stood taller than any of the council members in the room.  The fighter was dressed in black armor made of a curious hybrid that most onlookers were unable to identify.  His dark hair and beard added to his intimidating image, but the feature that most people found unnerving was the scar across his left eye.  Although believed impossible to still be functional, Lord Aeryk’s left eye still followed the focus of his right.  Rumors persisted that Lord Aeryk’s scarred eye was enchanted and gave him the ability to see his opponent’s moves in battle before they executed them.  There were also rumors that Lord Aeryk could detect lies in the hearts of men.

            Aeryk walked across the chamber with an air of confidence and menace about him.  As J’nar’s representative to the council, he was the only one audacious enough to display weapons.  The two longswords beneath his black cloak identified him as a mercenary – a member of the Guild of Shadows – and were plainly visible to everyone on the council.  Aeryk approached the dissenting councilman.

            “Of course we expect his Lordship’s emissary to defend his master’s cause.”  Mason tried to fire into another long rant but was cut short.

            “J’nar’s cause is Albion’s cause, Lord Mason.  The design for the former Hibernian lands is peace.” 

            “Peace?”  Mason scoffed aloud at the word.  “With more soldiers being drawn from the defense of our own lands we leave ourselves open to attack from Midgard as well as from within our own boarders.  And why isn't Lord J'nar himself here to answer to his actions?”

            “Midgard is feeble without their relics,” Lord Aeryk replied, ignoring his question.  “Soon they will fall.  It is only a matter of time.”

            “Impossible, Lord Aeryk.  With so few of our own soldiers and none from the conquered lands joining us – thanks to J’nar’s treatment of the people – I doubt we will ever break through Midgard’s defenses.”  Mason waited for the reply.  Lord Aeryk remained stoic and unresponsive as he continued to circle the Round Table.

            “We are losing allies, my friends,” Mason continued when he realized J’nar’s emissary was not going to answer.  “These ‘half-ogres’ Avalon has spoken of have refused to join our cause, the Iconnu peoples have begun to despise J’nar’s policies towards them.”  Mason glanced towards emissary Lor’scour for support, but found none.  “And even the Avalonians grow restless.”

            “We have no need for the Ogre half-breeds,” Aeryk said evenly as he stared down Lord Mason.  “And as for the rest of your concerns:  his Lordship has his plans.”

            “Then let us hear them.”  Mason’s voice wavered.  Fear began to take hold of his senses.  J’nar’s emissary, Lord Aeryk, was said to be unflinching in his loyalty to J’nar, and unmatched in his cruelty.  Aeryk continued to stare down the councilman.  Mason was pushed into his seat by sheer force of will, and the dark fighter leaned over him.

            “You will know when they have succeeded, Councilman.”  With a swift motion, Lord Aeryk spun away from the cringing Mason.  Unseen by the rest of the members, Lord Aeryk had unsheathed a small object and placed it carefully on the table next to Mason’s hand.  Only after Aeryk’s cloak had billowed away did Mason see the dagger.  Its unique design signified its ownership and Mason began to sweat.  Seeing the reaction he wanted, Aeryk withdrew from the councilman and addressed the rest of the members.

            “J’nar will soon be finished with Hibernia and with his help Midgard will fall under our rule.  Camelot will return to a glory not seen since before the death of our beloved King Arthur.”  Lord Aeryk surveyed the room and waited for any of the other council members to question his master’s methods or motives.  Greeted with nothing but silence, J’nar’s emissary left the room. 

            Councilman Mason suppressed his anger towards the departing fighter _and_ the council.  Motioning to one of his aids, Mason leaned in close and whispered in the page’s ear.  The young boy nodded and left to relay the message.

*******

            The sun set on Camelot, and a cold winter chill clutched the city in its biting grasp.  Lord Aeryk navigated his way through the back alleys of the city ignoring the temperature and the possible danger.  The fighter knew that even the darkest portions of Arthur’s city were safe for one such as him.  The occasional brigand’s eyes followed the cloaked fighter, but none dare attempt to practice their trade on the muscled swordsman.

            Lord Aeryk continued his journey, striding confidently and never looking anywhere but forward.  When Aeryk entered an empty courtyard, a torch was lit several feet in front of him revealing two pikemen.  J’nar’s emissary stopped and stood stalwart before the men.  Aeryk did not even make a move for his weapons when two more pikemen appeared behind him blocking his escape.  The captain of the soldiers watched his prey nervously.

*******

            In his quarters, Councilman Mason eyed the dagger that Lord Aeryk had left.  There was nothing on the weapon that would have led back to the councilman, yet Aeryk seemed to know that Mason was involved.  Mason touched the blade nervously.  The Saracen he had sent to infiltrate J’nar’s castle carried this weapon.  The man had been gone nearly a month without word, and Mason now knew why.  The councilman wondered how much J’nar and Aeryk knew.  As Mason considered the consequences of his actions, he heard footsteps at the threshold of his chambers.

            “Did the captain see to Lord Aeryk’s comfort?” he quipped.  Mason turned around, but rather than being greeted by his assistant Lora, he instead found himself face-to-face with the very swordsman in question.  Mason froze in terror and wondered how Lord Aeryk had not only escaped capture, but had infiltrated his stronghold.  Lord Aeryk said nothing but approached with one sword drawn, his gaze never leaving the councilman.

            Mason backed up past his bureau and up against the far wall as Lord Aeryk slipped the black blade under the dagger lying on Mason’s desk.  For what seemed an eternity, the dark fighter stared.  Mason was sweating but dared not move or speak.  Keeping his eyes on the councilman, Lord Aeryk suddenly flicked his sword launching the dagger in the air.  With precise movement Aeryk grabbed the short weapon and plunged it into Mason’s chest before the councilman knew what had happened.

            His eyes wide in terror, Mason’s body slumped to the ground.  Aeryk looked down at the man and waited for his last breath before turning around.  As the dark fighter walked through the antechamber, he stepped over a young woman’s body – a  dark, red pool spreading around her and soaking into her white dress.  Aeryk did not even take notice as he exited the councilman’s home and headed for the city gates.

* * *

**oOo⌛oOo**

* * *

            “I will not allow her to become some…berserker, Liam!”  Lena gently put her hands on ten-year-old Abaigeal’s shoulders and held her close.  The healer of Huginfel wrapped her arms over her niece’s chest, protecting her, in the standoff against the two people who – in her mind – were trying to place her in great danger.

            “That is not what is happening, Lena.”  Liam sighed at the old woman’s stubbornness.

            “Call it what you will, the result is the same.  I do not want to lose her as I did the rest of family.”

            “She has a gift,” Liam protested.  Romana, always at the man’s side, put a hand on his shoulder.  Liam relaxed a little and smiled at his wife.  Turning his attention back to the norsewoman, Liam continued his argument.  “She has an obligation,” he said softly.  Lena’s eyes were wet as she held the confused Abaigeal close to her.

            “She does, Liam: to her Norse heritage.  I do not want her fighting some war.  I want her hear with me healing those in need.”

            “She will be safe.  She will never be alone.”  Romana’s gentle voice calmed both parties.  Abaigeal, however, was still confused and frightened.  She twisted the silvery ring her family had just given her about her finger.  Liam smiled at the child then looked back up at Abaigeal’s great aunt.

            “Lena, I swore to you I would never interfere with Abaigeal’s teachings, and I have honored that agreement.  But I think there is something you should see.”

            “What?”  Lena was skeptical. 

            “With your permission?”  Liam motioned Abaigeal forward and produced six copper coins.  Holding Abaigeal’s hands out with her palms down, he stacked three coins on the back of each hand.  Lena frowned.  She knew what Liam was trying to do and she knew that he would never be so brazen if the outcome was not obvious.

* * *

**oOo⌛oOo**

* * *

            “I will not allow her to go!”  Abaigeal heard Aunt Lena speak as she approached the door to her room.  After the celebrations the night before came to a close, Abaigeal had found her way to her own bed and slept until well past midday.  Nursing a sore head the next morning, she managed to stagger out of bed and seek out her great aunt in search of her remedies.  Abaigeal pressed her ear up to the door and tried to listen in.  The words were muffled but she could tell her Aunt Lena was speaking heatedly to Liam and Romana about something .  The young woman pressed harder and cupped her hand over her other ear when she felt someone grab her from behind.

            “Blast it, Katzch!”  Abaigeal glared at her friend.  True to form, Katzch just laughed at Abaigeal who bore her an angry stare.  Abaigeal did not notice the voices had stopped until the door flew open.  Lena stood in the doorway frowning.  The young pair looked like a couple of thieves caught by a shop proprietor. 

            “Come, Abaigeal.  This concerns you.  You should hear it.”  Lena turned around and walked back inside leaving Abaigeal to wonder if Katzch was invited as well.  The valkyn made the decision for her and entered ahead of Abaigeal.  Inside, she found that Rayne was present as well, although he kept his distance from the argument.

            “What is going on, Uncle Liam?” Abaigeal asked.  Katzch took up position behind her friend and listened.  Abaigeal was deeply concerned; both of her aunts and uncle looked upset.  Only the elf remained impassive.

            “Perhaps it is best she didn’t go with us, Liam.”  Always the voice of reason, Romana held Liam’s hand as she spoke.

            “Go where?”  Abaigeal’s concern grew.  It was many heartbeats before anyone spoke.

            “We’re retrieving our relics, Abaigeal.”  Liam’s words shocked the young woman.  “It is the first step in retaking our homeland.”

            “A goal I am not sure is altogether achievable,” Lena stated coldly.

            “This will aid Midgard as well,” Liam replied, trying to contain his frustration with the old woman.  “Many of Midgard’s stolen relics lay within the same walls.  We have found a weakness.  A small force can penetrate the fortress and be in and out before the forces of Albion even know we are there.”

            Lena leveled her gaze at the ranger.  “Never-the-less, the mission is too dangerous, and Abaigeal is not…”

            “But I want to go!”  Abaigeal’s interruption was not appreciated by her great aunt.  All eyes turned to the headstrong Abaigeal.  Expecting a severe scolding to ensue, Katzch backed away from her friend to avoid being caught in the onslaught.  Liam gazed upon the young woman whom he had helped raise since birth.  After a long consideration, Liam altered his stance.

            “No, Abaigeal.  Lena is right.  This is too dangerous.  We have assembled some of our finest warriors – both Midgard and Hibernia.  It is best that you remain safe here in Midgard.” 

            Abaigeal’s heart sank upon hearing her uncle’s words and she emitted a frustrated squeal.  Katzch tried to comfort her friend, but Abaigeal stomped loudly out of the house and stormed off.

*******

            Abaigeal was despondent as she stood at the bank of Lake Huginfel.  The young fighter did not hear Rayne approach as she was instead lost in thought.  She remembered stories her aunt and uncle had told her about her parents.  About how her parents defied convention, and struggled against the prejudices of those around them.  Abaigeal knew in her heart that she was also in the midst of a struggle for her future.

            The elf blademaster waited a while before he walked closer to Abaigeal and intentionally stepped on a twig to get her attention.  The snap drew Abaigeal out of her daydream and she took notice of the interloper.  Tears were threatening to erupt from her eyes, but Rayne could tell they were not of sadness, but of anger buried deep; anger that was trying to surface.

            “I actually met your parents once, Abaigeal.”  Rayne’s voice was gentle rather than its usual stone-cold tone.  Abaigeal’s eyes lit up at the mention of her parents.

            “You knew them?  When?” she exclaimed.

            “A long time ago.  Before you were born,” the Elf winced slightly, “obviously.”  Rayne noticed no ill-reaction but apologized anyway.  “I am sorry, Abaigeal.  I did not mean to discuss such an emotional subject.”

            “No.”  Abaigeal was breathless.  “I like to hear about my parents.  My aunt and uncle,” Abaigeal swallowed, “t-they tell me so much about them.  I-I just wish,” the young woman felt a slight chill and took a deep breath in an effort to steady her voice, “I wish I had known them.”  Rayne smiled at Abaigeal.

            “I knew them for only a short time.  Days, really.  I had never seen two people so deeply in love before.”  Rayne reached out and placed his hand on Abaigeal’s shoulder.  Despite the warmth and calm the elf radiated, Abaigeal could not help but feel her pulse quicken.  “They triumphed against such incredible odds, those two did.  Together they did it, despite the fact that your father…”

            “That my father was Norse,” Abaigeal finished.  Rayne looked thoughtful for a moment.

“Aye,” he said softly.  The elf brushed Abaigeal’s shoulder.  Tracing his hand down her arm his fingers lightly touched the bare skin of Abaigeal’s hand before breaking contact. 

“They were two of the most skilled fighters I had ever met.”  Abaigeal jumped as Rayne’s voice shocked her out of her trance; she hung on every word the elf spoke.  “But you know what impressed me the most?”  Abaigeal shook her head when she realized the question was only partly rhetorical.  Rayne grinned.  “They never took ‘no’ for an answer.”  With that, Rayne winked and walked back towards the town.

*******

            Three days later a force of two dozen assembled in the center of Huginfel.  Liam and the norse warrior, Finna, examined the small band they would lead to Castle Excalibur.  An air of tension hung about the warriors.  The band was composed of the most diverse crew ever seen.  The shortest dwarf berserker stood next to a Firbolg nearly eight feet high.  Even the bickering mages, Cillis and Torryl had made the cut and joined the ranks.  Liam regarded the group with great satisfaction.  _The best of the best_ , he thought.

          “Once there, the first force will take the west side as the second force, led by Liam, will slip inside the castle,” Finna said, her voice sounding especially masculine as she shouted.  “Once inside the two forces will regroup under my command and we shall grab as many relics as we can before Albion arrives.”  The men and women murmured for a moment before a dwarf woman spoke up.

            “How ye plan to keep Albion from detecting us?” 

            Liam stepped forward to field the question.  “Leave that to me.  Before entering, each group’s archers will position themselves on either side of the castle.  At my signal we will take aim at the keep’s messengers.  With them out of the way, it will take hours before any word of our attack reaches Camelot.”  Liam smiled confidently, but a few of the group’s fighters scoffed.  The celt ranger noticed that they remained in the ranks anyway.

            “Remember,” Finna continued, “this is for retrieval of the relics only.  Anything else that could give away our presence will jeopardize this mission.  There will be time for more fighting later after we have regained what is rightfully ours!”  A few cheers of agreement came from the crowd.  “To victory!” Finna screamed.  Her words were followed by a loud reply.  The woman repeated her cry and was met with a louder cheer.

*******

            In her room, Abaigeal heard the cries as she stuffed her pack with supplies.  She hurriedly collected her things as the troops left the town square and headed to the frontier keep.  Outside her window Katzch whispered.

            “Hurry, Abbie!”  The short valkyn could barely see into the room.

            “I am,” Abaigeal replied angrily as she gathered her things as quietly as possible.

            “We’ll miss them!”  Abaigeal ignored her friend and threw her cloak over her shoulders.  As she climbed onto the chest below her window she slipped and cursed.  Katzch told her to be quiet, instructions Abaigeal did not need repeated.  Climbing through the window and closing the shutters behind her, Abaigeal and Katzch ran off in the same direction as the force.  At the door to the hut, Lena watched them disappear into the distance.  A female troll approached the old woman and saw Lena’s eyes fill with tears.

            “I cannot stop her from growing up, Skahan,” Lena spoke quietly.  The troll squeezed her friend gently.  Wiping her eyes, Lena looked up at the troll. 

            Short by troll standards, Skahan made up for her size with her skills as a Skald.  She, too, was close to the young Abaigeal.

            “Keep an eye on her for me, my friend.”

            “You have Skahan’s word, Lena.”  With that, the fully-armed troll barreled down the path after the duo.


	5. Castle Excalibur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published June 21st, 2019

            Wispy clouds began to move in as the sun disappeared behind a ridge in the Pennine Mountains creating a beautiful sunset.  Abaigeal found it hard to concentrate on her journey.  The young half-celt had never been to the Albion frontier before and the land held many wonders for her.  The young woman paused for a moment as she and Katzch ascended a small hill.  The sky was filled with a brilliant orange glow that mixed with the clouds.  Abaigeal was in awe.  She had never seen quite the same sight in her homeland.  Abaigeal continued to stare until her companion poked her in the ribs.

            “Wake up, Abbie!” Katzch hissed.  Abaigeal blushed and continued along the path at the top of the plateau.  The two women had traveled all day and were nearly in sight of the Sauvage forest and her uncle’s company.  Near the edge of the plateau Katzch’s ears twitched.  Grabbing Abaigeal’s sleeve, the valkyn girl ducked behind a rock.  Abaigeal tried to ask a question, but Katzch hushed her.  After a few seconds, Abaigeal could hear what had grabbed her friend’s attention.  Behind them – on the other side of the rock – something approached.  Its steps were heavy like that of a large beast and it moved on two legs.  Abaigeal and Katzch drew their weapons when the footsteps stopped behind their cover.  The two of them held their breath as they waited to strike.

            “Skahan find Abbie, finally!” Skahan exclaimed as she poked her head over the rock.  Abaigeal and Katzch nearly jumped out of their skin, but were quickly relieved when they saw their friend. 

            “Dumb troll!” Katzch yelled.  Skahan’s face stretched into a broad grin.  Abaigeal was about to greet her friend when she heard Katzch sniffing at the air.  Suddenly, the giant head of a brown lizard cast a shadow over the trio.  Abaigeal screamed and Skahan turned around to see the mammoth reptile lunging for the trio.  Using the gifts bestowed upon her by the Norse god Bragi, Skahan screamed at the beast.  The Skald spell stunned the lizard, giving the three women time to escape.  The spell did not last long, however, as the lizard regained its senses and picked a target.

            Skahan drew her giant axe and took a swipe at the creature’s face as it missed her by a foot.  The lizard lunged again at the troll, its wide maw displaying rows of glistening fangs.  Katzch, meanwhile, had run to the rear of the beast and climbed up its tail and back.  The fearless Valkyn Savage began a whirling dance with her blades as she tried to penetrate the reptile’s thick hide.

            Abaigeal watched in horror as her friends tried to fight off the massive creature.  Skahan bellowed out another sonic attack at the lizard, the noise of which snapped Abaigeal out of her shock.  Gripping her twin blades, the young fighter charged into the fight only to be brushed back by the gigantic tail as the lizard spun around trying to dislodge the valkyn planted in its back.

            The giant lizard snapped its neck sending Katzch flying.  As Abaigeal ran to her friend’s aid, Skahan tried to divert the lizard’s attention, but the creature would not be dissuaded.  Abaigeal tried to pick up the injured Katzch, but the lizard was on them.  Before the creature had a change to strike, a giant orb of darkness enveloped its head.  Abaigeal recognized the magical spell of a Hibernian eldritch.

            Atop a nearby ridge, Cillis and Torryl pelted the beast with magical attacks.  From the valley below the plateau, Liam’s company filed over the ridge and engaged the giant lizard.  With two dozen warriors and mages on top of the beast, it was only a matter of seconds before it succumbed.

            Abaigeal breathed a quivering sigh of relief as the group’s healers descended upon the pair.  Katzch’s minor wounds were tended to, and Romana hugged Abaigeal for many breaths as Liam looked on.

*******

            “You shouldn’t have come, Abbie.”  Liam’s words stung Abaigeal.  Resting in a heavily-wooded part of Forest Sauvage, the company – plus three – tended to the injured and reassessed the mission.  Skahan and the fully recovered Katzch stood by their friend.

            “You said yourself I had an obligation to my homeland.”  Abaigeal was steadfast in her position.  “Well, now I mean to fulfill that obligation, Uncle Liam.” 

            Liam sighed.  Abaigeal was as much, if not more, stubborn than her mother.  “I made a promise to your aunt that I would not allow you on this mission.  She even sent Skahan to retrieve you.”

            “Lady Lena sent Skahan to _protect_ Abbie,” Skahan interjected on Abaigeal’s behalf, “not to take her back.”  Liam tried to speak, but was cut off.  “If Abbie want to go with, Skahan will follow and keep her safe.  Skahan gave her word.”  Skahan winked at Abaigeal who was stunned that her great aunt had actually given her consent.  Liam rubbed his temples and uttered a curse under his breath.  Rayne chuckled beside him.

            “Very well, I can tell when I’ve lost a fight.”  Liam turned to Finna.  “Then we are ready to move out,” he informed the commander.  Finna called the company to attention and began forming ranks.  Liam turned back to Abaigeal and her friends.  “Since you three work so well together,” Liam grinned, “you will be in my group.  Stay close to Romana and me.”  Abaigeal nodded.

            As their company prepared to continue their journey, Romana approached her Liam.  The tall, blonde Heroine shifted uneasily and wrapped her arm around that of her husband’s.

            “Are you sure this is a good idea, Liam?”

            Liam smiled, but his eyes told Romana that he, too, was worried.  “I don’t see that we have a choice.”  Liam rested his head against his wife and sighed.  “She’ll be safe.  We’ll watch over her.  And we’ll be in and out before she is in any danger.”

            Romana watched Abaigeal prepare for battle alongside her two companions, Katzch and Skahan, and said a silent prayer.  At the head of the ranks, Finna called the company’s chanters to attention.  Skahan, a bard, and another skald began their songs and the allies sped through the forest towards Castle Excalibur.

*******

            A cold, gloomy morning fog rolled in from the forest casting a ghostly silence across Castle Excalibur, Albion’s relic keep.  Soldiers walked the keep’s perimeter as the rising sun began to pierce the gloom, but the eerie silence persisted.  That is until the silence was pieced by a barrage of arrows.  The well-aimed missiles hit all of their marks and most of the Albion scouts fell immediately with barely a sound.  Those remaining were met with deadly spells before being overrun by the invaders.

            The castle’s alarm went out, but there were no scouts left to convey the message.  Abaigeal and her friends followed her uncle to the west gate where the other half of the company had already broken through.  On the other side of the wall they heard the ensuing battle, and once inside they joined the melee.  The courtyard began to fill with armsmen – plated soldiers of Albion – but the invaders sealed off all escape from the castle.

            Weapons drawn, Abaigeal attacked a heavily armored highlander.  Romana had the man’s attention as she parried his halberd to one side with her enormous two-handed sword.  The Celt Heroine wielded her blade with incredible skill as she pushed the armsman back towards her niece.  When the man was close enough, Abaigeal worked her blades with furious determination as she searched for a break in his armor.  When the man fell to the two-pronged attack, Abaigeal saw the blood on her weapons and paused for a moment. 

            “Abaigeal!  Drop!” Romana shouted. 

            Abaigeal snapped out of her reverie to see the paladin closing in, his shield racing towards her head.  The young fighter raised her blades in an attempt to block the shield but was yanked out of the way at the last moment by a strong pair of arms.  Skahan tucked Abaigeal under her arm and made her way to safety before depositing Abaigeal back on her feet.

            The troll grinned at Abaigeal and patted her on the back.  Far from the main battle, Abaigeal saw Finna and her warriors push the Albion defenders back into the central tower of the castle.  Katzch sidled up to her friend and smiled.  Abaigeal looked down and noticed copious amounts of blood dripping from Katzch’s weapons.

            “Inside, Abbie!” urged Katzch.  The young valkyn was in the midst of battle fury and did not want to get left out.  Abaigeal gripped her weapons and followed Katzch, her aunt and uncle, and Skahan into the tower.

*******

            Several leagues to the south of Castle Excalibur, Lord Aeryk entered the eastern Albion frontier keep, Castle Sauvage, where he was met with chaos.  Soldiers all around were yelling as the officers tried to form what few men and woman they had into ranks.  With the promise of great power in the Atlantean lands, many of Albion’s best warriors were unavailable for defense of the homeland.  This fact coupled with the occupation force in Hibernia and the cleansing of Darkness Falls made frontier defense a difficult proposition.  But Lord Aeryk would tolerate no excuses.

            Not missing a step, Lord Aeryk strode towards the nearest officer to investigate the commotion.  The young lieutenant recognized J’nar’s emissary and met him beside the small group of fighters he had gathered.

            “My Lord, we have just received word of an attack on Caer Excalibur!”  The young man was nearly out of breath.

            “Why hasn’t this news reached the rest of the realm yet?”

            “I do not know, my Lord.  They must have cut off our lines of communication.  No scouts made it out of the forest.  Only one wizard managed to escape and inform us that it was a small band and not a large raid at all.”  The lieutenant saw Aeryk’s anger building.  “I’ve sent messengers, but…I do not know how they slipped past our entire frontier’s defenses!”  Lord Aeryk grabbed the lieutenant by the neck.

            “Imbecile.”  The young man clawed at the hand around his neck as Aeryk surveyed the frightened group of men and women the lieutenant had managed to assemble.  Throwing the gasping man against the wall, Lord Aeryk addressed the four defenders.  “Our forces in Sauvage Keep will never assemble in time.  You four will follow me.  We will infiltrate Excalibur and defend the relic vault ourselves until Camelot’s forces arrive.” 

            One of the two archers was about to mention the absence of a cleric in their group but – upon seeing Lord Aeryk’s angry stare – changed his mind.  Once outside the Sauvage frontier keep, Aeryk and his group raced towards Castle Excalibur.

*******

            The last resistance inside the relic keep had all but fallen under the small force of Midgardian and Hibernia raiders.  Inside the vault atop the tallest tower, a Theurgist stood behind three armsmen as they tried to push back the onslaught.  The hope of holding out for reinforcements seemed viable until a tremendous explosion ripped through the room.  The combined spellfire of Odin’s Wrath and Null Ebullition engulfed the last four defenders.  The armsmen succumbed quickly, but the lone mage resisted the magic only to be cut down by a dwarf’s twin axes.

            Abaigeal followed Romana as half of their forces filed into the vault.  The young fighter was amazed by what she saw.  The vault’s ceilings were twice as high as the tallest troll and the walls were lined with treasures.  Abaigeal had never before seen such a cache of weapons, armor, and other relics the use for which she could not even begin to fathom.

            “Take as much as you can safely carry,” Liam instructed as he slung his bow over his shoulder and began sorting through the equipment.  The rest of the group did the same, and soon the din of the items being stripped from the walls filled Abaigeal’s ears. 

            Abaigeal did not know where to begin.  Rayne stood in the doorway away from the looting and watched the young Abaigeal trace her fingers over a row of weapons until she came to a pair of ordinary-looking short swords.  Abaigeal froze as her fingers touched the hilt of the first weapon and the whole world seemed to disappear around her as she caressed the item.

            Most certainly magical in nature, Abaigeal wondered how such magnificent items could be overlooked.  Covered in dust, the weapons’ brilliance was not realized until she unsheathed them.  The blades were untarnished and shone silvery-white even in the orange torchlight.  Brushing the dirt from her hands, Abaigeal noticed that the hilts were of a foreign design.  Abaigeal scrutinized them closely and realized they were indeed of Hibernian craftsmanship. 

            The Celtic falcata was a common design in Hibernia.  The blades of each weapon were curved slightly with a single honed edge made for slashing.  The end of the blade was wide and tapered slightly in the middle lending most of its weight at the tip.  Most who saw such a blade would not have given it a second thought, but Abaigeal sensed the magic imbued in the weapon.

            The young half-celt looked at the falcatas in wonder.  The metal of each blade bore an intricate pattern that Abaigeal at first thought had been carved onto the surface.  The designs reminded her of ripples on the surface of the water.  She looked at the other blade which had a similar yet unique design and realized that the pattern was embedded into the metal.

            “Damascus,” Rayne said.  Abaigeal was startled from her trance.  She turned to the elf but could barely tear her eyes from the blades.

            “What?” she asked.

            “They’re Hibernian blades, but the steel is from far off to the east.  Beyond the Indus,” the elf explained.  “Steel that is almost as strong as arcanium.  You have a good eye, Abaigeal.”

            Abaigeal returned her gaze to the beautiful blades.  She studied them, entranced for many breaths until an explosion outside the castle jolted her from her trance.  Abaigeal turned to Romana who was standing nearby looking equally concerned.  Rayne had already dashed down the steps to investigate.

*******

            Lord Aeryk stood over the body of his minstrel.  The man had walked directly into a trap left by one of the invaders.  When the runemaster’s ward detected the presence of an Albion defender, its powerful energies ripped through him leaving a smoking corpse.  Aeryk looked up at the ramparts of Castle Excalibur to see several rangers and Hunters taking aim.  The dark fighter drew his twin blades and stepped aside as an arrow embedded itself in the ground where he had been standing.  A second arrow was deflected by Aeryk’s left blade.  Aeryk’s own archers took aim with their longbows but their shots deflected off the stone walls, unable to hit their targets from their low angle.

           The female scout beside Lord Aeryk took an arrow in her left shoulder as she tried to nock her second arrow.  Her shot flew low and Aeryk felt the air whistle as the arrow almost grazed his ear.  The woman fell back and rolled down the hill to safety as she struggled with the arrow buried in her flesh.  Lord Aeryk ignored her and motioned the remaining archer and armsman to follow him.

*******

            Inside the central tower, Rayne burst into the main vault.

            “We have company, Liam.”  The elf’s voice was matter-of-fact.  Liam thought for a moment then finished lashing a large cauldron onto Skahan’s back.

            “We’re finished here, everyone.  Stow what you have in hand and follow me.  We’ll regroup with Finna in the courtyard.”  With those words, Liam unsheathed his short swords and retreated to the stairwell.  Abaigeal swallowed hard and grabbed Katzch.  The valkyn noticed her friend was frightened and did her best to calm her down.

            “Katzch protect Abbie,” the smiling valkyn remarked.  Abaigeal took a deep breath and nodded.

            “But who is going to protect you?”  Abaigeal’s voice cracked. 

            Katzch just grinned at her friend.  “Katzch is safe as long as Abbie is around.” 

            Abaigeal chuckled nervously.  Focusing on their escape, the group of vault raiders waited for Liam’s signal then filed out of the room.

*******

            In the castle courtyard, Finna’s forces searched for the Albion defenders they had been alerted to but found nothing.  After the archers had informed her of their numbers, the three Albion soldiers had simply disappeared.  Finna cursed and commanded her warriors to regroup at the base of the tower in order to meet with Liam’s company for their escape.  No one heard the steps of the three missing defenders in question as they ascended the tower stairwell.

*******

            Lord Aeryk knew that the courtyard force was merely to secure the area so a smaller group of invaders could steal the relics that Albion kept safe in the tower.  His only concern was to secure the relics and wait for the next wave of defenders from Sauvage to retake the keep.  Sealing the tower door behind him, Aeryk and his two soldiers made their way up towards the relic vault.  On their way, the encountered the looters he was looking for.

*******

            The norse warrior at the head of the line called out a warning to the rest of the company as he engaged the Albion defenders on the narrow landing.  Before anyone could come to his aid, the warrior was cut down by the lead Albion attacker.  From behind his fallen comrade, a tall firbolg charged the three soldiers that blocked their escape and was quickly joined by two dwarves.  The firbolg roared and thrust his spear at the tall, dual-wielding fighter who deflected the attack causing the firbolg’s spear to graze the armsman’s shoulder leaving a deep wound.  The Albion leader ignored his companion’s cries and pressed forward with his offense against the off-balance Firbolg. 

            The companions watched the dark fighter work his blades flawlessly against their allies.  The firbolg tried to use his spear to deflect the multiple attacks, but one of the fighter’s black swords slashed his chest leaving a gaping wound.  The tall Hibernian Champion barely had time to cry out in pain when the black-clad fighter’s second blade took the Firbolg’s head from his body.

            Abaigeal gasped in horror as the attacker pushed the Firbolg’s headless body aside and immediately cut down the two dwarves a breath later.  Katzch growled and grabbed Abaigeal, pulling her back away from the fight.  With the battleground being so narrow, no one could come to the aid of the warriors as the Albion trio pressed forward up the stairs.  Seeing who they were up against, Liam called for a retreat back to the main vault.  A fight against J’nar’s legendary champion was not one they were going to win.

*******

            At the bottom of the tower Finna and her company tried in vain to breach the sealed entrance.  Cursing her luck she led her warriors outside the keep.  In the distance she could see the Albion reinforcements approaching.

            “Blast it, Liam.  Get out of there.”  Finna surveyed her options.  Looking up to where the tower joined the keep’s outer wall she searched desperately for signs of the last few members of her company.

*******

            “Seal the door!” Liam yelled.  Romana and the others bolted the only entrance to the main vault, temporarily sealing their attackers outside.

           “Uncle, what do we do?”  Abaigeal held her new weapons at the ready with Katzch and Skahan flanking her.  The group had been reduced to just the six of them.  Romana and Rayne looked to Liam for answers, but the ranger just stood in front of them with swords poised, ready for the final battle of his life. 

            Abaigeal’s mind, however, was trying to solve their predicament from a different angle.  Her eyes searched the room for anything that would save them.  The relics they had taken were mostly symbolic – serving as defensive or offensive wards on the large scale – and none of the other relics were of any help without an army to wield them.  Their situation was looking dire until Abaigeal saw something useful.

            Without a word, Abaigeal tore the bright red curtain from the window next to the vault entrance.  Romana saw what Abaigeal was doing and hoped they could escape through the window, but that idea was quickly dashed as she realized that even the small Katzch could not hope to squeeze through the small opening.  However Abaigeal did not plan to escape through the window; at least not yet.  The young fighter quickly stuffed the curtain through the window.  Before she was able to retreat to the back of the room with the others, the door to the vault was blasted apart showering Abaigeal with splinters.

            Lord Aeryk pushed through doorway followed by his two companions.  Abaigeal ducked and rolled away as just as J’nar’s champion swung his blades, missing her by mere inches.  Drawing her newly-acquired falcatas, Abaigeal backed up against the far wall with her friends and prepared for the fight.  However the tall Albion mercenary paused for barely a breath and stared directly at her.  Abaigeal shuddered as she looked into the man’s scared left eye.

*******

            Outside the castle, Finna frantically watched the tower for signs of activity, growing more desperate by the second.

            “What’s that?”  Finna pointed to the brightly-colored curtain that was just perceptible as it flapped in the breeze.  Everyone looked up, but only two members of the company recognized the signal.

            “That’s the valkyn girl and her friends!” Cillis cried.  “They’re trapped!”

            Torryl ran ahead of his companion and began his spell.  Cillis joined her companion and began her own spell, The Runebolt.  Not that she doubted Torryl could hit the mark, but it was going to take a lot of power to open up that window.

*******

            Lord Aeryk raised his twin blades and prepared to dispatch the thieves.  As he took two steps forward across the threshold of the tiny window, the wall around it disintegrated.  The armsman and scout behind him caught the full force of the blast and were reduced to ash as Aeryk was thrown across the vault. 

            “Skahan, get us out of here!” Liam cried.  Romana grabbed Abaigeal and pushed her towards to gaping hole in the wall as Skahan began her Song of Travel.  Abaigeal felt her legs invigorated by the skald’s magic as the entire group jumped through the hole, sliding down the roof, and down onto the ramparts.  Down below, Finna and her company cheered when they saw their friends’ escape. 

            The remaining vault raiders traversed the outer castle wall down to the courtyard and out of the castle to join the rest of their friends.  The company made their escape far ahead of the approaching Albion liberators; racing beyond the range of their archers.

            At the edge of the Sauvage Forest, Abaigeal turned to look at the smoking castle in their wake.  It had been her first real battle.  Not a large one, she knew, but the loss of her comrades at the hands of truly skilled enemies left her with much less desire for combat.  Abaigeal shuddered and hoped that she never would see the scarred man in black again.

*******

            In the remains of Castle Excalibur’s relic vault, Lord Aeryk pushed aside the rubble, climbed from the floor and stood in the opening made by the retreating thieves.  The stoic fighter carefully removed his coif and rubbed the old scar across his left eye.  As he watched the band of Hibernians and their Midgard allies escape across the Albion frontier, Lord Aeryk paid close attention to the girl in the curious armor wielding the stolen falcatas.  Lord Aeryk contemplated the battle and the small band’s victory for several moments before exiting the ruined vault.

            Outside the keep in the lower bailey, more Albion forces had already begun to arrive and the front gate opened up – the portcullis wenches operated by infiltrators who had climbed the outer curtain wall.  As the liberators poured into Castle Excalibur, Lord Aeryk strode through their ranks without so much as a glance.  Most of the soldiers gave J’nar’s Master Mercenary a wide berth; however one man stood his ground.

            The Saracen Infiltrator commanding the forces from Camelot removed his helmet revealing slightly graying hair.  His intricate armor spoke of his rank, and the many shallow scars on his cheek spoke of his years of experience.  The commander was not about to be intimidated by the lone man – no matter who he was – and stood in the center of the gate as Lord Aeryk approached. 

            Lord Cresil narrowed his eyes at Lord Aeryk who all but ignored him; the imposing mercenary did not even afford his comrade a glance until he pushed passed the shorter saracen.  Lord Aeryk casually brushed shoulders with Lord Cresil knocking him off balance just slightly.  The power play was obvious to the soldiers around them.  Despite Aeryk’s failure to secure the relics, Cresil knew the damned mercenary had still managed to come out on top, for now. 

            Cresil fumed as Lord Aeryk left the castle, but as J’nar’s Master Infiltrator, he was not about to let the man’s insolence get to him.  Cresil looked around incredulously, until he found what he believed to be a survivor of the attack slumped against the wall.

            “What the hell happened here?” he asked the cowering soldier.

*******

            The joyous celebration that followed the heroes’ return to the Midgard frontier keep lasted well into the night.  The victory over Albion – unexpected by most– was the first in years and had brought out even the most stalwart opponents of the Hibernian alliance.  However no one in Midgard needed an excuse to drink to excess.

            The eastern frontier keep of Svasud Faste soon became packed with celebrants as the news quickly spread of the company’s victory.  Many congratulated Abaigeal for her quick thinking as much as they praised Finna’s leadership.  But every member of the company that penetrated the most heavily-guarded fortress in Albion was a hero – even the elf.

            Abaigeal’s spirits were higher than she could remember.  At every turn someone danced with her, slapped her on the back, or raised a mug of ale to her health.  When the celebration finally began to wind down in the wee hours of the morning, the young woman wandered the keep in search of Rayne.  The elf had been unable to avoid all of the festivities and had even recounted some of his exploits when pressed by drunken dwarves.  But true to form, Rayne had disappeared.  Abaigeal found him alone on the high ramparts facing the frontier lands.

            For several minutes Abaigeal watched the elf from a distance.  She wanted to speak with Rayne but his cool and distant demeanor made her hesitate.  Finally she decided he must desire solitude if he had made his way to the loneliest part of the keep.  She was about to leave when Rayne spoke.

            “You did well, Abaigeal.”  The breach in the silence startled her, but the elf’s voice was warm.  She smiled at him from the end of the wall.  Rayne turned to her and pushed his hood back to reveal his own smile.  “You won the day,” he began, “essentially.”

            “Thank you,” she beamed.  She was about to leave when he approached her.

            “You won a battle without lifting your sword.  That is the first lesson on the Path of Harmony; the path to becoming a Blademaster.”  The elf placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.  Abaigeal felt proud to have earned the admiration of one so skilled.

            “It-it was nothing.”  Abaigeal blushed.  Her reaction would have been missed in the darkness, but Rayne, with his keen elfin eyes, could see the rush of heat to the young woman’s cheeks.  Rayne placed his other hand on Abaigeal’s other shoulder and leaned in closer.  Abaigeal’s heart thumped in her chest.

            “Get plenty of rest, Abaigeal; your training begins tomorrow,” he whispered.  Rayne patted Abaigeal’s shoulders and left her in the doorway.


	6. Training and "Training"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit content ahead (you were warned).  
> Published June 28th, 2019

* * *

**oOo⌛oOo**

* * *

            Abaigeal cautiously approached the small, rickety hut.  The tales of the old druid woman who lived north of Huginfel were well-known.  Not even at their most mischievous would Abaigeal and Katzch dare disturb the woman; dire warnings of her exotic magic proved too terrifying.  Abaigeal had always been curious about the mysterious woman from her mother’s homeland, but when her uncle instructed her to visit the old druid she nearly refused.

            Liam and Romana had recently returned from one of their “excursions” to Hibernia, as they referred to them.  The nine-year-old Abaigeal was not entirely sure what the word meant, or what her aunt and uncle did there, but she was always happy to see them come home safe.  The girl would pester her adoptive parents about their adventures in her homeland but they were very secretive about it.  Liam and Romana would always return in great spirits, but not on their latest trip.  This time was very different.

            Abaigeal remembered her great aunt Lena sending her away while she tended to the group’s injuries.  The mood in the village had turned somber.  No one in their party spoke of what happened, and Abaigeal knew better than to ask.  So when Liam sent Abaigeal – alone – to see the druid Lady Eileen, it seemed like everything had changed that day.

            The young girl stood before the rotting door to the druid’s hut for many breaths, trying to muster the courage to knock. 

            No, she could not do it; too scary! 

            The moment Abaigeal turned to run the door creaked open to reveal…no one.  Curiosity got the better of her – as it always had – and Abaigeal poked her head through the threshold.  There was shuffling and a clatter of metal and Abaigeal saw an old woman fussing over the hearth, her back turned to the door.

            “H-hello?”  Abaigeal knew the Hibernian greeting, but she was out of practice and nervous.

            “Be with you in a minute, dear.  Please sit; make yourself at home.”  Eileen’s voice was rich and comforting, not at all what Abaigeal was expecting.  Hesitantly, Abaigeal entered the hut and closed the door behind her.  What she saw inside _did_ however fit her expectations.

            The clutter was enormous.  The walls of the hut were lined with stacks of books and scrolls.  A pile of various small weapons looked as though they had been tossed there seasons ago, and some were even rusting.  The disorder was legendary.  There was nowhere to stand, let alone sit.

            “Say hello to Critter before he gets angry.”

            Abaigeal jumped expecting to see a large rat when she felt something rub against her legs.  Looking down she saw an old speckled gray cat looking up at her expectantly.   Smiling she reached down and scratched the cat behind the ears.  Despite his age and that he was missing an eye, the cat was adorable.  His fur was soft and running her hands over his ears helped to relax Abaigeal.  That is until she looked up.

            Lady Eileen stood a mere stride in front of Abaigeal.  She had crossed the room silently.  Despite the old woman’s warm smile, Abaigeal yelped.  Eileen simply smirked.  It was then that Abaigeal realized the woman was holding a cup of hot broth.

            “It’s customary to accept a drink when visiting someone’s home, Abaigeal.”

*******

            Lady Eileen had cleared an area next to the hearth for her and her guest to sit.  The cushions were soft, but Abaigeal was still uncomfortable.  The two of them sat in silence while Abaigeal inspected the curious drink.  After a few sips the concoction seemed less bitter than it had at first.  Abaigeal took her first real gulp of the broth, looking up at her host to make sure she was doing it correctly.

            Having witnessed well over seventy winters, Lady Eileen was probably to oldest person Abaigeal had ever met.  Her pure white hair was short, but carefully groomed and style.  The woman’s pale skin was wrinkled as bark and covered with light brown spots.  Even though Eileen was still quick on her feet, she walked with a stoop.  Abaigeal had trouble believing people could grow so old, and she expected that Lady Eileen was not long for this world. 

            In truth, the last nine winters had been hard on the seasoned druid from Hibernia.  Eileen had been instrumental in bringing the survivors of the Albion invasion to safety in Midgard.  It was not an easy task, and it was made harder by the harsh Midgardian climate – both that of the weather _and_ the inhabitants.  But Eileen did not survive all those years without developing a zest for life and a sense of humor.  Abaigeal could see this plainly in the old woman’s eyes.  Even though the woman’s blue eyes were set deep in their sockets, they possessed the mischievous sparkle of a much younger person.  Abaigeal finished her drink and looked around the room.

            Critter had found a perch on the hearth and was grooming himself.  Amongst the massive clutter of tomes, scrolls, and artifacts, the cat was only the second most interesting thing in the hut.  Abaigeal’s eyes kept wandering to the pile of weapons:  one in particular.  Abaigeal instinctively looked away from them, but she could not help but notice the sword with the short, green blade.  Looking up, she noticed the old druid woman scrutinizing her closely; her bright blue eyes twinkled.  Abaigeal smiled despite her nerves.

            “What do you see, Abaigeal?”

            “What?  I-I didn’t mean to…” Abaigeal said, embarrassed.

            “It’s alright.  I imagine you have many questions, but I’m curious:  what were you looking at just now?”

            Abaigeal recoiled slightly.  She did not want to get in trouble, but Eileen’s tone made it clear that the druid was not angry.

            “Th-the sword…”

            “Aye?”  Eileen nodded, letting Abaigeal continue.

            “It’s out of place,” the young girl said with more confidence.

            “Go on.”

            “The rest of the weapons are yours…from Hibernia.  But the green one isn’t.”  Eileen nodded again and smiled.  “It’s not from Midgard either.”  Eileen’s smile faded slightly before she turned away to discard her empty cup.

             “You have a sharp eye for your surroundings, Abaigeal.  I’m impressed.”  Abaigeal beamed with pride under the compliment.  It was nice to see a grownup happy for a change.  For the last few days her village had been terribly gloomy.

            “I suppose you want to know why your uncle Liam sent you here to see me,” Eileen said, interrupting Abaigeal’s musings.  Abaigeal shrugged.  She was beginning to enjoy meeting someone new – someone from her mother’s homeland – and now she was afraid the meeting was going to turn into some kind of chore.

            “Your uncle wants you to learn more of your Hibernian heritage, specifically that of your mother’s.”

            “You knew my mother?” Abaigeal blurted.  The girl’s interest was piqued and she could not hide the enthusiasm in her voice.

            “Yes, I knew your mother since she was an infant.  But I imagine you know all the stories.”  Abaigeal grinned.  She loved hearing about her mother and father.  “But do you know what your mother did?”

            “Um, she was a warrior.  She fought against the invaders – against Albion.”

            “Not just a warrior, Abaigeal; your mother was a Blademaster.”

            Abaigeal stared at Eileen in disbelief.  She had heard the term before.  Whispered among the stories of old Hibernia before The Fall, Blademasters were all but gone now.  The other defenders had survived – their trainers escaping across the frontier to sanctuary in Midgard – but not the Blademasters. 

            “Aye,” Eileen said.  Abaigeal’s thoughts were not hard to read.  “Your uncle wants you to learn about your mother and her order.  Abaigeal thought for a moment before realization set in.

            “But I’m not allowed to touch a weapon:  Aunt Lena forbids it.”

            Eileen nodded.  “And hold a weapon you will not.”

            “Then what can I possibly learn?”

            “I can teach you,” Eileen interrupted.  The old woman’s eyes fixed unblinking onto Abaigeal.

            “H-how?”  Abaigeal’s nervousness returned.

            “Although Druids such as I walk with nature as their ally – as the Blademaster depends on a weapon – they both follow the same Path of Harmony.”  Abaigeal furrowed her brow in a vain attempt to understand the woman’s meaning.  “I can teach you the Path of Harmony as your first step on following in your mother’s footsteps.

            “Your aunt Lena,” Eileen continued, “is a very wise woman; a healer, like myself.  She has your best interests at heart.”  Eileen reached over and brushed the hair from Abaigeal’s eyes.  “And most importantly:  she is matriarch of your family.  But she does not understand that you have a destiny.  There will come a time when your great aunt will accept that you are your mother’s daughter, but until that day you must obey her and never lay your hands on a weapon.

            “If in the future she agrees to allow you to wield arms as your mother once did, then the time we spend together will see you well prepared for that day.”

            Abaigeal’s mind was swimming.  _Train to be a Blademaster without touching a weapon?  How can it be possible?_   The young girl wanted nothing more than to be like her parents; to following in her mother’s footsteps.  Hibernia was exotic and so far away, and now she was being given the opportunity to not only learn more about it but to become part of it.  Abaigeal shook off the bewilderment and looked Eileen in the eye.

            “What must I do?”

            Eileen smiled.  “First lesson:  take my hands, close your eyes, and breathe.”  Abaigeal obeyed, taking the woman’s hands.  When Eileen was confident that the girl eyes were firmly closed, she asked:  “Now tell me: what do you see?”

*******

            Lady Eileen watched the young Abaigeal leave.  After much of the day in meditation with the druid, Abaigeal had agreed to return every afternoon for more lessons.  She was to tell her great aunt Lena the truth:  that the druid Eileen was teaching her about her mother’s homeland and her Hibernian heritage.

            Abaigeal regretfully left but with enthusiasm for her return to Eileen and to her lessons.  She proved to be an eager student and showed promise.  Lady Eileen also looked forward to the girl’s return, but with some trepidation.

            Eileen closed the door to her home and casually walked over to the burning hearth.  Picking up the sword known as Timber Walker’s Defender from the pile of weapons, Eileen replaced it securely in its sheath, concealing its distinctive green blade.

            “Smart girl.  Almost too smart for her own good.”  Eileen sighed.  “I hope you know what you’re doing, Liam,” she said to herself.

* * *

**oOo⌛oOo**

* * *

            In the two months since retrieving the Midgard and Hibernian relics, much had changed for Abaigeal. Her training with Rayne the elf blademaster had taken up all of her time.  Katzch understood her friend’s dedication but it had taken a while for the valkyn to accept it.  The two companions saw less and less of each other and eventually Katzch was called to duty at Vindsaul Faste.  It was a tearful goodbye but the two friends promised to visit each other soon.

            Even her aunt and uncle had been absent for most of her training.  Romana and Liam had both returned to Huginfel to reassure Lena of Abaigeal’s safety.  And Abaigeal missed her great aunt most of all.  She had not seen Lena since she had left for the raid on Castle Excalibur.  Abaigeal wanted to visit her but Rayne said her training came first and the trip to the small town in West Svealand would take too long.

            And the training was rigorous.  Abaigeal lived on but a few hours of sleep each night.  The winter sun barely rose each day and, in combination with the harsh physical training and the lack of sleep, Abaigeal was growing restless.  And Rayne did not improve her mood.  Abaigeal quickly realized that he was less the wise sage she had imagined him to be and more the harsh taskmaster.

            The young half-celt woman was smitten by the elf at first.  She felt something stirring inside her that she rarely felt for anyone in her village, man or woman.  The village’s doe-eye maiden Abaigeal was not.  Several men had tried to woo her and were quickly rebuffed, often with more than their pride smarting.  But Abaigeal was no virgin either.  A sweaty afternoon with the son of the village blacksmith in her sixteenth summer opened the young woman’s eyes to the world of physical passion.

            But boys tend to talk when prompted – or even when not – and Abaigeal did not take kindly to her new reputation.  Several bruised faces later and her former reputation was replaced with a new one: that of the girl with the temper.  Abaigeal was beginning to feel her hidden affection for the elf being replaced with anger as well.

            Rayne was particularly harsh today.  The Svasud Faste courtyard was covered in a light frost when Abaigeal had gotten up.  Her instructor had begun the morning with a series of attacks the moment she entered the sparring chambers.  The young woman was distracted and Rayne had taken advantage of it.  Abaigeal was even more embarrassed by the fact that she was distracted by the lean, muscular physique underneath his tunic.  She did not realize it, but when the elf had noticed her staring at his arse he decided to teach her a lesson in awareness which left more than her pride smarting.

            And so the morning progressed with little respite for the blademistress-in-training.  By midday Abaigeal begged for a break which Rayne provided begrudgingly.  The two sat in silence and ate.  Rayne was sipping water from a skin when he broke the silence.

            “Abaigeal,” he began in a manner that informed the young woman that he was disappointed in her… _again_.  Abaigeal could feel her anger rising, but she did her best to remain calm and respectful to her teacher.

            “I have concerns about your chosen weapons,” he finished, waiting for her response.

            “Why?”  Abaigeal was caught off guard.  Rayne’s usual critiques were centered on her technique.  “What is wrong with them?”  Rayne paused for a moment and sighed.

            “Being a master of the blade is not meant in the literal sense,” he said.  Abaigeal furrowed her brow in a vain attempt to understand the situation.  “It’s not about mastering the weapon, Abaigeal,” he continued, “it’s about mastering yourself; your abilities.”

            “I don’t understand.  What does this have to do with my weapons?”  Abaigeal unsheathed her twin falcata blades.  They were priceless relics of Hibernia, expertly crafted from Damascus steel.  There was an enchantment upon them that gave them great strength and durability in addition to the power to cut through the hardest of substances.  She looked back to her instructor for clarification.  Rayne gave her that look she hated:  the one that made her feel like an idiot.  _By Eir_ , she thought, _if he was not my teacher I would punch him in the face!_

            “It’s not the falcata itself that I object to.  You do not wield them as they were intended.”  Abaigeal was about to interrupt when Rayne tried to salvage his lesson.  “Every man and woman on the Path of Harmony has innate abilities, especially you, Abaigeal.”

            “I still don’t understand,” Abaigeal replied, feeling slightly better.

            “Your body, your movements, and your spirit all tell me that you would do better with a different weapon:  one with a different weight, and especially one with a different edge.”  Abaigeal clutched her prized possessions.  She felt like a child who was being told to give back a toy she had found.  But these were _Hibernian_ relics.  They belonged to _her_ people.

            “My blades are fine,” she stated firmly, although it came off as petulant.  Rayne shrugged and let the matter drop.

            “Then let us continue with the lesson.”

*******

            Abaigeal was sweating.  The lesson had moved outside where it was cooler, but the cool afternoon air did nothing to cool her temper.

            “No.  Again,” Rayne instructed.  The elf had put up a formidable defense and tasked Abaigeal with trying to breach it.  But every time the neophyte _Blade Weaver_ tried to get through she had failed.  Abaigeal growled in anger and tried again only to be knocked back on her rear.

            “Patience, Abaigeal.  You’re not a berserker.  Concentrate and find the opening because there is _always_ an opening.  No defense is perfect.”  Rayne’s words stung even though he did not intend them to.  Abaigeal was certain _she_ was the only one who could not find the opening.

            The young woman tried again, and failed again.  Sitting up from where she had landed, Abaigeal avoided her teacher’s gaze.  Rayne sighed and helped his pupil back on her feet.  The elf paced the ground for a moment and sighed.

            “Perhaps we should stop for the day,” he said.  Abaigeal could no longer contain her anger and her temper exploded; Rayne barely had time to raise his swords. 

            Even with his swords still at the ready, Rayne was pushed back on his heels against Abaigeal’s flurry of attacks.  The young woman’s falcatas were a blur as the elf parried each incoming blade.  Although his instinct was to counter with his own attack, Rayne held back.  It was not until he realized his student was going to pin him against the wall, that Rayne realized he had better disarm her…and quickly.

            However Abaigeal’s attacks were not as mindless as her instructor thought.  Abaigeal, her face set in a mixture of determination with a healthy dose of rage, managed to knock back Rayne’s ripostes, not with just her left, but with both blades.

            Even though he was impressed, Rayne was becoming desperate.  Not only did he not want to injure his student, but he was beginning to worry about his own safety.

            “Abaigeal!  Stop!” he yelled, but that only drove her further.  Abaigeal’s anger was beginning to cool, but that did not quench her thirst for revenge.  She had to prove to her master that she was not stupid; that she could be a Blademaster like her mother.  But there was another reason she pressed the attack.

            Seeing Rayne on the defensive and seemingly helpless was having an effect on Abaigeal.  The feeling of power alone was intoxicating, but when it came to the handsome elf the excitement was amplified ten-fold!

            When Abaigeal finally pushed her master to the wall, Rayne had nowhere to go.  Abaigeal tried to disarm the elf.  When that did not work, Abaigeal grabbed his wrists with both hands and pushed him back.

            Rayne was shocked at the speed with which he had been incapacitated.  Even while holding her own blades she was able to pin his wrists to the wall with incredible strength.  The two combatants stood face-to-face in that position for several rapid heartbeats.  Rayne said nothing for fear of setting off another tantrum.

            Abaigeal panted; she was still angry – which Rayne could plainly see in her face.  She looked as if she could gut the elf at any moment.  However a curl in her lips appeared and betrayed her joy at defeating her teacher.  But there was more than the pleasure of victory coursing through her veins.

            The proximity was too much for Abaigeal.  She had never been this close to Rayne before.  His scent was like nothing she had experienced before.  His fear, his exhaustion, and his exotic aroma all smelled like…home…Hibernia…the land she never knew. 

            Rayne looked at the young mixed-blood woman quizzically.  “A-Abaigeal…”  But Abaigeal cut him off.  Dropping her swords and releasing his wrists Abaigeal grabbed Rayne’s face and kissed him firmly on the lips.  The elf was more than startled but when he did not protest Abaigeal pressed further.  After a moment’s hesitation Rayne dropped his own swords and let his hands wander, exploring Abaigeal’s curves.

            When Abaigeal felt Rayne’s hands on her waist, her legs began to tremble.  Suddenly her clothes could not come off fast enough. 

*******

            No one was around to witness the encounter.  Svasud Faste was unusually quiet that afternoon – save for the rustle of clothes and several excited gasps.  The pair had fallen into the pile of hay in a secluded corner of the courtyard and Rayne had quickly checked for witnesses before he committed the carnal act. 

            It was not the difference in age that concerned him.  At over fifty winters old, an elf was still young in both body and mind.  No one would bat and eye at his age, but the mere fact that Rayne was a member of the traitorous elves – and living in the land of Hibernia’s former enemies no less – could have gotten him killed.  Now he was lying with the young woman whom many in Midgard considered their own foundling daughter.  Despite his heroism at Excalibur, many would not hesitate to thrust a sword in his belly for taking advantage of the girl.

            But an elf like Rayne did not get to where he was by avoiding risks, and Abaigeal’s invitation was too much for him to decline.  Life had been lonely since his exile from not only Hibernia but his elvish homeland behind The Veil.  Rayne noticed Abaigeal’s beauty when he first saw her and the valkyn in Northern Uppland, and again when he met her in person.  Abaigeal was adorable – even by elf standards – and Rayne was particularly fond of the young woman’s ample Norse traits.

            But it was not just her physical beauty that caused the impure thoughts he had repressed for the last two months.  Abaigeal possessed an innocent and inquisitive nature that warmed the elf’s heart.  Not only was Abaigeal passionate about the Path of Harmony and her training, she loved learning more about the world, especially of her mother’s homeland.  Abaigeal had been prodding Rayne for information and stories about Hibernia at every pause in her training.  Everything about her made each evening excruciatingly lonely for the elf.  Thoughts of seducing his student had crossed his mind once or twice during those nights – fifteen times, to be exact – but were quickly quashed as he remembered his promise to Liam and Romana to train their adopted daughter.  He wondered if he had accidentally led her on.

            Abaigeal’s thoughts at the moment, however, were much simpler.  She was with Rayne!  Their passions were heated but brief that afternoon, because of the danger of discovery.  And Abaigeal did not need much time to reach relief.  She had pulled Rayne down on her the moment enough clothing had been shed.  Rayne was taller than Abaigeal but she did not feel his weight as much as she expected.  His movements were firm and she soon had to muffle her cries into his neck.

            The couple lay wrapped in each other’s arms for many moments.  All that could be heard was the heavy breathing which eventually slowed to a gentle, contented tempo.  Rayne pushed himself up slightly and nuzzled his lover.  Abaigeal smiled and kissed him.  _By Eir, he is beautiful_ , she thought.

            “Abaigeal,” Rayne whispered.  “We should…”  Rayne hesitated, not entirely sure what to say.  Abaigeal understood and nodded.  The pair began to redress, an act that took on more urgency when they heard voices approaching.  Abaigeal retrieved her swords as did Rayne.

            As the elf straightened his tunic, Abaigeal grabbed him for one more kiss before a pair of guards rounded the corner.  Rayne was happy to oblige the kiss.  Before they could be discovered, Abaigeal broke the kiss and drew both falcatas.  Surprised at first Rayne drew his own swords.

            The guards glanced briefly at the two sparring partners before continuing on.  Abaigeal smiled at Rayne; a blush in her cheeks and a twinkle in her eye.

*******

            The rest of the day was a blur for Abaigeal.  Giddy and frightened at the same time, the young woman paced about her room.  Her thoughts raced.  Was Rayne angry with her?  The two had parted with nothing but a quick peck on the lips.  No words had been spoken between them and she had been alone for hours.  Did he regret it?  _She_ certainly did not.

            Abaigeal paused before a mirror.  The polished brass reflected a happy woman.  Yes, that is what she was:  a woman; not a child.  This time was different; not like with Sven.  After the blacksmith’s son, she still did not understand what all the fuss was about.  She had been curious at the time, and Sven was a willing participant.  But he seemed to enjoy it much more than she did.  Plus the “issue” with his friends afterwards had soured the whole experience.  This time was different.  She felt it.  She felt wonderful, and with Rayne it felt right.  But did _he_ feel it was right?

            Abaigeal knew that teachers were not supposed to sleep with their pupils, but she needed Rayne; he was from her homeland.  That made the impropriety forgivable, right?  The young woman looked at her reflection for a few moments and grinned.  Her cheeks looked red.  They had been warm all afternoon.  She felt daring.  She wondered if this is how her mother felt when she fell in love with her father. 

            Abaigeal yelped when a knock at her door drew her from her reverie.

            She cautiously approached her door.  Rayne was here!  He was coming to embrace her again.  She looked at her bed.  It was a mess.  Her whole room was a troll’s den! 

            _Ugh!_   Abaigeal hoped he would not be repulsed as she kicked some dirty clothes into the corner.  Unless, she thought, he had come to put an end to their relationship the moment it had gotten started!  Abaigeal panicked, her heart pounding as she flung open the door ready to pounce on – or punch – the elf.

            “Uncle!” Abaigeal gasped as she saw Liam and Romana standing in front her of.  “Auntie!”  The half-celtling hesitantly embraced her uncle as Romana quirked an eyebrow.

            “Not happy to see us, Abaigeal?” Romana asked.

            “No!  I mean yes!  I’m very happy to see you!”  Abaigeal was not sure she was convincing anyone.  She bit her lip and hugged her aunt.  “When did you arrive?”

            “Not long ago.”  Romana smiled and released her adopted daughter.

            “We ran into Rayne,” Liam said causing Abaigeal’s heart to skip a beat.  “He said your training is progressing well.”  

            Abaigeal nearly choked.  “Yes.  It’s, uh, going well.”  An uncomfortable silence ensued until Romana spoke.

            “Have you eaten, Abaigeal?”  Abaigeal suddenly remembered that she had not eaten that evening.  She had been too excited, although now she was certain she would be unable to keep anything down.  Did Romana suspect?  Romana stopped waiting for an answer.

            “Well, then you must dine with us in the hall and tell us all about it.”  Abaigeal smiled sheepishly and walked hand-in-and with the man and woman who raised her.

*******

            Dinner had been excruciating for Abaigeal.  Not only was she anxious to find Rayne, but her aunt and uncle spoke of how Lena missed her.  Abaigeal’s mood darkened at the thought of her great aunt.  She missed Lena, too.  Her great aunt had been an anchor to her heritage in Midgard just as Rayne was a reminder of her Hibernian heritage.  Romana could tell she was worried and reassured Abaigeal that Lena knew she and Liam were keeping watch over her.

            Liam changed the subject to that of the resistance and informed Abaigeal of all that had transpired during their trip to East Svealand and to the capitol city, Jordheim.  With the return of the relics the leaders of Midgard were providing the refugees with more resources.  There was talk of taking back the homeland.  Romana looked to her husband, a look of concern on her face.  Abaigeal was excited but unsure of what this meant for her future.

            The meal and the mead began to take its toll on Abaigeal.  At the end of supper she bid goodnight to her aunt and uncle and slipped away.  She crept through the corridors of Svasud Faste and found herself at the door to Rayne’s quarters.  She was too tired to think about whether or not it was a good idea, and simply knocked on his door.  She heard footsteps and the elf answered, opening the door.  Abaigeal simply stood quietly in the threshold for a moment.  Even if she had been sober and alert she could not have read Rayne’s expression and she simply fell into his embrace.

            Rayne kissed her and led her to his bed, closing the door behind them.

*******

            Despite her exhaustion, Abaigeal was introduced to more of Rayne’s world that evening.  Her libido returned when she felt his tongue weave its way to meet her own.  It was the first truly passionate kiss they shared.  The young woman mounted her teacher and rode him to a blissful end to the day.  Sleep came quickly for the young woman.  Abaigeal dreamed while Rayne remained awake.  His situation had become much more complicated.

            Upon awakening to their first morning together, Abaigeal remembered where she was with a delighted grin.  She roused her companion with the promise of a round of sunrise sex, but Rayne had stopped her.  He spoke of the need to keep their relationship a secret.  Abaigeal was worried at first but acquiesced and the pair made love again.

            The lovers hid their secret.  Rayne continued to train Abaigeal during the day after which the young woman would sneak into Rayne’s quarters at night.  The subterfuge was not difficult to maintain as Rayne’s quarters were in a well-secluded part of the keep.  At first the elf was just as delighted in the arrangement as Abaigeal.  Abaigeal was an incredibly enthusiastic partner.

            However something became noticeably off quite soon.  At first Rayne was unsure if Abaigeal was becoming lax in her training, or if their activities in bed had given him a new perspective on her training.

            A fortnight into their relationship Rayne decided to confront his pupil, but not during her training.  That night Abaigeal opened the door to his room right on schedule.  What she saw was most perplexing.  Abaigeal was greeted by the elf standing by his bed dressed in light cloth pants.  His torso was bare.  Abaigeal had to squint to see him because the room was illuminated by a single oil lamp on the table beside the bed.  The normally roaring fire was no more than a cluster of smoldering coals.  The room was warm enough, but almost no additional light came from the fireplace.

            Abaigeal tentatively approached her lover.  Rayne normally met her at the door and the two of them could barely make it to his bed before falling into an aggressive tangle of limbs.  Abaigeal was usually the winner of that wrestling match.

            “Rayne?  Is everything alright?” the young woman asked hesitantly.  Rayne smiled warmly and extinguished the lamp.  Abaigeal gasped in the darkness.  She was frightened despite her excitement.  Her lover was acting very peculiar.  She shuddered when she felt Rayne close in on her and place his hand on her cheek.

            “Relax, Abaigeal,” he spoke softly.  The kiss that followed was slow and deliberate.  But Abaigeal was still unsure about the change in their routine.

            “But…I want to see you.”

            “Why?  You know I’m right here.”  Rayne’s teasing was becoming intolerable for the poor Abaigeal.  She was about to protest again when she felt his hand slip below her waist and under her leggings.  Abaigeal sighed when the elf’s fingers gently insinuated themselves between her thighs.  As he expected Rayne found the young woman’s course curls wet with anticipation.

            “Close your eyes,” Rayne instructed.  Abaigeal complied, not that it made a difference, but it felt a little more natural to be in complete darkness this way.

            “Breathe,” her lover commanded.  “Don’t look; just feel.  You might be surprised at what you find.”  Abaigeal could not suppress her giggles.  Rayne was just being ridiculous now.  Although his hands – one between her legs and the other running through her hair – were giving her pause.  Perhaps there was more to this than she thought.  The young woman decided to go with it and pushed the elf’s britches down.

            Abaigeal tried to push her lover onto the bed, but Rayne pulled her down with him and the two lay side by side.  Opening her eyes, Abaigeal saw that she was more used to the darkness but could still barely make out Rayne’s silhouette in the ill-lit room.  She knew he was naked when she ran her hands all over his body.  She could feel rather than see his tight muscles beneath his lean form.  This certainly was different, and she decided she liked it.

            Meanwhile Rayne rolled her onto her back and was relieving her of her shirt.  Abaigeal felt the cool air on her breasts and tried to shed the last of her clothing.  But Rayne stopped her.  With nothing but her leggings left, Abaigeal felt Rayne slowly kiss his way down between her breasts, across her navel, and down to her hips.

            Abaigeal was not sure what her lover had planned as he kissed her skin just above the waistline of her cloth leggings, but she grew more and more excited as he tugged them down inch by inch.  With the retreat of her leggings, Rayne kissed Abaigeal’s skin lower and lower until her mons was exposed.  Abaigeal thought he was going to stop and finish disrobing her, but she clamped her hand over her mouth when the felt the elf’s tongue dip lower and part the lips of her sex.  The young woman’s eyes went wide in the darkness.  Her free hand worried the bedsheets while Rayne’s tongue worried the lips of her sex.  Abaigeal did not know if she should bolt from the room or scream.  Then she remembered her teacher’s words: “Breathe.”

            Abaigeal carefully released her hand over her mouth and tentatively placed both over the elf’s head.  Soon she was gently running her fingers through his hair and enjoying his efforts between her thighs.  Rayne gently coaxed Abaigeal’s legs further apart exposing more of her delights. 

            The young woman had now calmed down and was truly enjoying the evening.  She could feel herself approaching her climax albeit slowly.  Rayne’s touch was too light; it felt like he was teasing her loins with his lips and tongue.  Abaigeal grabbed his head in her hands firmly in an attempt to increase the pressure but Rayne would not allow it.  Abaigeal moaned in frustration.

            After several minutes of delightful agony Rayne released Abaigeal’s hips and drew himself up to kiss his lover.  Abaigeal’s frustrated protests were muffle by the elf’s lips.  When she remembered the source of the moisture on his lips she gasped slightly.  Her teacher was taking her down new paths this evening.

            But Abaigeal had had enough.  The young woman reached below to find her lovers erection and guide him into her, but again Rayne gently pushed her hands away.  Instead he turned Abaigeal onto her side and nestled up behind her; letting his hands roam over every inch of Abaigeal’s exposed skin.  Abaigeal eventually realized that relief was not going to come quickly this evening, and – sighing – she reached behind to find some skin to feel.  It was not altogether unpleasant to lie with Rayne like this.  It was dark.  It was relaxing.  It was calm.  The only sounds were the rustle of their bodies sliding together.  The young woman continued to explore the man behind her in the darkness with her hands.

            When Abaigeal found his erection she grinned to herself then was surprised when Rayne also slipped his fingers between her legs.  Rayne’s movements were light; not rushed.  Abaigeal decided to test him and worked his member dexterously between the fingers and palm of one hand.  When his breathing became ragged he disengaged and turned Abaigeal around to face him.  More kisses were shared and eventually Rayne rolled over, pulling his lover on top of him.

            Abaigeal straddled the elf just below his cock.  Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she could see Rayne almost completely.  She smiled at him and teased the tip of his member.  Abaigeal circled the crown for a few moments before gently running her fingertips down and back up the length of Rayne’s erection.  The young woman sighed when her lover reached up to lightly caress her sensitive breasts.  Abaigeal was beginning to understand what was happening.

            The two lovers touched, licked, and nibbled each other until one or both of them approached the apex of pleasure.  But before the peak could be scaled they would back off, wrestle each other to a new position and begin the dance again.  At one point Abaigeal found herself face-to-face – as it were – with Rayne’s stiff member.  Not entirely sure what to do, she kissed her way up and down its length until Rayne groaned in frustration eliciting a giggle from his young lover.

            But all good things must end.  From her previous experience, Abaigeal knew Rayne was a taut bowstring ready to release and it would not take much to end his torment.  And Rayne had also put Abaigeal agonizingly close to release.  While trying to pin her elf lover to the bed, Abaigeal put herself in an awkward position that Rayne capitalized on.  The young woman landed face down on the bed with a grunt and Rayne directly behind her.  Abaigeal groaned when she felt hands on her hips and Rayne pulled her up on her knees.

            “Please, for the love of Eir,” she begged, the first words spoken that night since they began.  Rayne needed no more encouragement and entered her from behind.  The soft squeal that emanated from Abaigeal’s lips was music to the elf’s ears.  Rayne concentrated on postponing his own climax and began gently stroking in and out of his lover.  The feeling of his girth stretching the path to her womb was not enough to put Abaigeal over the edge.  The young woman groaned but Rayne kept up the slow pace.  Eventually Abaigeal drew herself up and pressed her back against her lover’s chest. 

            “Abaigeal,” Rayne called softly in her ear as he wrapped his arms under her breasts.  Abaigeal turned her head, leaned back and their lips met.

            “Rayne,” she answered.  “Please!”  The elf slipped a hand between the celtling’s thighs.  When her lover found the most sensitive spot on her body, Abaigeal whimpered.

            The lovers’ tempo increased and soon all Abaigeal could think of was her own climax.  The blood pounded in her ears and she pressed her hand over Rayne’s.  Pushing his fingers firmly against her sex, she pushed back against his thrusts until her skin was coated in a thin sheen of sweat.  Abaigeal was close; she needed only to be pushed over the edge.

            Rayne could hold back no longer and his cock pulsed inside Abaigeal providing that last nudge she needed.  Abaigeal screamed and collapsed with Rayne on top of her.  The two lovers panted as their shared climax ebbed.  Abaigeal turned her head back to Rayne and their tongues danced until they had to catch their breath.

            Eventually exhaustion overtook them and the cool air forced them to retreat under the covers.  Abaigeal watched Rayne for as long as she could stay awake.  His eye’s closed first, and then his breathing became shallow.  Abaigeal touched his face for a while in wonderment then snuggled close up against him.  Abaigeal did not want to leave the bed, but soon she would have to slip back to her own room to maintain their secret.

            Abaigeal hated leaving.  She wanted to stay the night.  She wanted to wake up with Rayne.  _Perhaps just a little while longer,_ she thought.  An hour later the half-celtling begrudgingly crawled from her lover’s bed and made the stealthy journey back to her own room.


	7. The Blademistress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published July 4th, 2019

            In his quarters, high atop Swanton Keep, Lord Aeryk stood behind a large, wooden desk and read the report.  A short, cloaked man stood across the desk from the Master Mercenary, his cowl hiding his face and his unease.  The infiltrator shifted his weight slightly; Aeryk’s eyes shot up and leveled malevolently at him.

            “You are sure this information is correct?” Aeryk asked in a low voice that bore only a hint of emotion.

            “Aye, m’lord.  All that there is to know is there,” he said, motioning to the report in his master’s hands.  Aeryk knew the infiltrator’s loyalties lay with the Shadow’s Guild, but he also knew the man’s loyalties lay more specifically with the leader of the guild, Lord Cresil.  And not least of all, every member of the guild knew that the best way to gain power in Camelot under Emperor J’nar was to be master of the information.

            “What of her family?” 

            The infiltrator paused before speaking.  “She was born to a celt woman who died in childbirth during the invasion.”  He had been caught and would have to give up more information.

            “And her father?”

            “Unknown.”  Aeryk cocked an eyebrow waiting for the man to continue.  “Apart from nebulous stories and rumors as to his heritage, the father is assumed dead.”  Aeryk eyed the man for a few tense moments then turned his attention back to the parchment. 

            “Very well, you may leave.”  The infiltrator saluted and quickly backed out the door.  After a few breaths, Aeryk followed, his eyes not leaving the report until he reached the door.  Opening it, the dark fighter motioned to his two guards.  With a gesture to his throat he pointed down the hall where the spy had left then once again closed his door.  A moment later the infiltrator’s death cries echoed in the distance.  Aeryk took little notice and read the report one last time.

            “Abaigeal,” he scoffed as he threw the paper into the fire.  “ _Father’s Joy_ , indeed.”

*******

            Abaigeal thrust open the door to the training room in a rush.  Her wavy brown hair was a mess and she was fighting it with a course brush.

            “You’re late,” Rayne stated off-handedly.  Abaigeal returned the admonishment with a grunt and smirk.

            “I can think of one or two reasons why, _Älskling_.” 

            Rayne nearly choked.  The endearment was tossed his way just a little bit too loudly for his comfort.  The elf glanced at two norse warriors nearby.  The two men were sparring with swords and shields and had taken no notice of the exchange.  Rayne scooted close to Abaigeal and cleared his throat.  The young blademistress strained to see what he was motioning towards while continuing the battle with her hair. 

            “No one heard,” she shot back gruffly. 

            Abaigeal was annoyed.  That much was obvious to Rayne; probably her hair, but _more_ probably something else, and even more probably _his_ fault.  Women were women no matter where they were from and of what race they were a member.  Rayne had seen his share of beds in many parts of the realms and he had come to know one immutable truth about his lovers:  the very fact you have to ask is the reason for their anger.  Abaigeal finished with her hair and tossed the brush aside. 

            “I don’t like the walk of shame,” the half-celtling finally whispered.  “Especially after last night,” she added with a pout. 

            Rayne mischievously quirked an eyebrow.  “Oh.  Why’s that?” 

            He was going to do it.  He was going to make her say it.  Abaigeal would be annoyed if it was not one of his more endearing traits.

            “You know!” she whispered loudly.  “It was…special.”

            “How so?”

            “D-different.”  Now Abaigeal _was_ getting annoyed.  Rayne smiled and let her off the hook.

            “I’m glad you enjoyed it, _Melamin_.”  Abaigeal blushed.  She did not understand the Elvish tongue but the way he said it gave her chills.  “Perhaps you would like to continue it this morning?”  Abaigeal blanched.  This time _she_ glanced at the other two fighters to make sure their conversation was not overheard or at least the context of which was not understood.

            Rayne winked, took out his blades and began to place a covering over the leading edges.  Abaigeal watched with curiosity.  On each side of both swords, Rayne fitted long, thin pieces of wood and secured them with leather straps.  The coverings protected the blades and any who might be struck by them.  Abaigeal wondered why he bothered.  She was long past this stage in her training; she had not used them since she was a child.  Rayne handed her a pair for her falcatas.

            “What are these for?” she asked uncertainly.

            “To be safe,” the elf replied.  Abaigeal examined them then looked up to see Rayne securing a black blindfold over his eyes.

            “What in the realms?” 

            “To make it dark.”  Despite his blindfold Rayne strolled up to his pupil and whispered in her ear:  “Just like last night.”  Abaigeal’s face went crimson.  This was getting too much even for her.  She secured the coverings to her blades which were surprisingly light enough not to throw off the balance of her weapons.  Hesitantly she placed her own blindfold over her eyes…mostly.

            “All the way, please,” Rayne instructed.  Abaigeal tilted her head up and peeked under the blindfold wondering how he could tell she was cheating. 

            “Just a guess,” her teacher replied to the unasked question.  Rayne took a few steps back.  “It’s time to try a different technique, Abaigeal,” he told her as she pulled the blindfold down fully over her eyes.  “I believe you are ready for the next step on the Path of Harmony.”  Abaigeal heard rather than saw him ready his blades.  She furrowed her brow in disbelief and awkwardly held up her own twin blades.

            “You’re serious,” she stated more than asked.  She had never known her instructor to joke about lessons, but this was bordering on the absurd.  Rayne took a swipe.  Abaigeal heard his movements:  the rustle of his clothing and the sound of his blade as it cut through the air.  She tried to block it, but had no idea where it was coming from.  The young blademistress found herself on her rear almost immediately.

            Abaigeal grumbled and peeked under her blindfold to see her instructor’s hand out to help her up.  She begrudgingly took it.

            “Are you sure you’re not cheating?” she asked.

            “Test me.”  Abaigeal made a subtle rude gesture, one she knew would get a response.  Rayne stared at her unresponsive from behind the blindfold for a moment.  “You made a rude gesture, but I cannot tell what.”  The elf grinned.  Abaigeal was satisfied.  Pulling her blindfold securely over her eyes she entered a defensive stance.  Again, Rayne attacked.

            This time was different.  This time Abaigeal was ready.  Without her eyes she had to rely on her ears.  The first two swings of the elf’s blades were easy to deflect, but Rayne kept coming:  a third time, then a pause.  Abaigeal’s heart raced.  Rayne attacked again, and she parried each blade again.  Laughing, Abaigeal jumped out of range and pulled down the blindfold.  Rayne stood before her smiling.

            “Excellent!” her instructor congratulated.  “You’ve learned that you must use more than your eyes.  Attacks can come from anywhere.  Rely on your eyes and you will miss half the battle.”  Abaigeal was elated.  She replaced her blindfold and lunged at her instructor.

            Rayne and Abaigeal danced across the room working their blades with incredible skill.  Without her vision to distract her, Abaigeal found openings in the elf’s defenses she had never realized existed.  But when she had Rayne on the defensive, he retreated and changed his tactics putting Abaigeal back on heels.

            And so it continued:  both blademasters vying for dominance in a test of raw skill.  Each time one of them gained the upper hand and went in for the kill, the other would turn the tables putting them on the defensive.  Back and forth the lovers sparred.  Abaigeal found a new passion in her education, and Rayne unleashed his skills fully.

            Until this moment Rayne had held back in his role as Abaigeal’s teacher but the time had come for her to learn what it meant to master of the Path of Harmony.  The elf blademaster waded in impossibly close to his student with his blades slicing in a vicious cross cut.  Abaigeal, with her eyes still covered, yelped and leapt back but Rayne did not relent.  The elf spun around and nearly caught his student in the side.  Even with his blades covered the hit would have been painful.

            Abaigeal was kept on the defensive by this new strategy for quite a while.  The young woman began to sweat with the excursion of evading each attack, and she knew she would not be able to keep it up for much longer.  Then Abaigeal remembered the first lesson: breathe.

            Calming herself, the Half-Celt Girl of Huginfel cleared her mind and concentrated on her remaining senses.  In her mind the world slowed enough for her to search for the opening:  the counter to Rayne’s attacks.  And she found it.

            When Abaigeal knocked his left blade aside and scored a hit, Rayne’s heart swelled with a pride he had not felt in years.  He knew the only reason he let her blade connect was because of the protective covers shielding each other from the honed edges of their blades, but he was elated none-the-less.  But now was not the time to stop.

           Now nearly evenly matched, the pair fought to a standstill.  Their battle grew fierce; their movements intense.  When the standard fighting techniques did not work, the two combatants edged ever closer to each other until intimate contact was unavoidable.  Abaigeal swore she could feel Rayne’s lips near her face more than once and she nearly lost her concentration.

            “You’re a daring man, elf,” she mocked jokingly.  Rayne said nothing, but began to push Abaigeal towards the other side of the training hall.  There the two norse warriors stood waiting.  When Abaigeal was close, Rayne snapped his fingers.  It was time for the next lesson.

            With no cover protecting his blade, the first warrior swung at the young woman’s head, but Abaigeal sensed the attack the moment the norseman’s muscles twitched.  She ducked just in time.  Even with the added distraction she deftly parried Rayne’s continued attacks.  The norseman continued his task opposite the elf instructor and lunged at Abaigeal.  And each time Abaigeal ducked or parried his attacks.  Satisfied, Rayne signaled the second warrior.

            With her eyes still blindfolded, Abaigeal hardly noticed the two additional opponents.   The young blademistress no longer saw the world as a person normally would; she resided in harmony with it and each attack was as obvious to her as footsteps in fresh snow.  Abaigeal parried and evaded the attacks from all three directions.  Even with the inelegant use of their weapons, Rayne knew that, combined with his own attacks, the norse warriors were a true test of Abaigeal’s concentration.

            Rayne could see her face relax.  Abaigeal’s crimson lips parted slightly, allowing her to breathe freely.  Her legs danced gracefully between her three opponents.  When one of the norsemen made an error she disarmed him without consciously realizing it.  Rayne feared she would injure the man and stepped in to intercept while he retrieved his sword.  The elf decided it was time to show Abaigeal exactly what she was capable of.

            Rayne quickly discarded the protective cover on his blades.  Abaigeal heard the strange sound of the light wood hitting the floor but did not know what it was until the sound of Rayne’s naked blades alerted her to danger.  However by then Rayne’s plan was already in motion.  With impossible precision the elf blademaster sliced the blindfold from Abaigeal’s eyes.  When the cloth fell away she nearly screamed.

            “Rayne!” she cried when she realized she was battling not only her teacher, but two burly norsemen who seemed rather irritated that a blindfolded girl was besting them in battle.  The half-celtling looked to her master for guidance but received nothing but his blindfolded, stoic face.

            “No mercy!” he commanded, but Abaigeal was not sure if he was talking to her or the men behind her.

            Her heart pounding, Abaigeal knocked Rayne’s blades aside and dived towards one of the norse warriors.  Surprised, the man raised his shield to block the series of blows that followed.  His companion tried to assist him, but that was exactly what Abaigeal wanted.  With little effort she twisted the second man’s blade from his grasped then leapt straight up to avoid Rayne’s swipe at her legs.  Then Abaigeal aimed a kick directly at the unarmed man’s chest.  When he brought up his shield in defense, the force of the blow sent him flying back.

            With one norse warrior out of the way, Abaigeal worked her still-covered blades on the first man.  Shocked that his companion was already down, the man was a quick defeat.  Now all that was left was the elf.

            Abaigeal crossed her falcata catching their coverings and flinging them aside.  Now with her blades free she pushed her teacher back with a flurry of blows as her anger subsided.  She had realized what Rayne had done, but she still did not appreciate the surprise.  Abaigeal decided to teach him a lesson.  Her attacks became unconventional and Rayne worried that her anger was making her clumsy.  However when he tried to disarm the young blademistress, Abaigeal locked his blade with both falcatas.

            Rayne held fast to his right sword and Abaigeal tried to pin him to the floor.  The seasoned blademaster came down hard with his left and forced Abaigeal back, but she created the opening she wanted.

            With her own deft precision, the young woman turned her left blade over and swiped up to cut Rayne’s blindfold from his own eyes.  Only then did Abaigeal leap back and watch her teacher’s reaction.

            The elf simply stood there grinning at something behind Abaigeal.  Panting – her blades still at the ready – Abaigeal turned to see her aunt and uncle.  Romana stood next to her husband – her mouth agape in shock – but Liam simply grinned at his adopted daughter for a moment then began clapping proudly.

*******

            For the rest of the day, Abaigeal demonstrated her prowess with the blades and basked in the admiration of her teacher and family.  After an intimate celebration in the dining hall, Abaigeal excused herself for the evening.  The young blademistress looked at her hands as she walked to her quarters.

            “I did it,” she thought.  “I’ve become a Blademaster like my mother.”  The young half-celt thought about her parents.  _Would they be proud?_ she wondered.  She wished she had known them.  She did not even know what they looked like except for descriptions of her mother’s beauty…and her father’s love for her.  Abaigeal opened the door to her quarters and was drawn from her contemplation by a tall figure waiting for her.

            Standing by her bed in his full leather armor and hands resting on his weapons was her teacher.  Rayne pulled his hood back and smiled.

            “I’m sorry, Abaigeal.  I didn’t realize how selfish I was being.  Perhaps you would allow me to stay the night?”  The elf had barely finished his question when Abaigeal pounced on him.

            “Yes!” she cried and kissed him.  Rayne fell back onto his lover’s bed and Abaigeal began tugging on the clasps of his armor.  The elf blademaster chuckled and unbuckled his scabbards letting them drop to the floor.

*******

            In their chambers on the other side of Svasud Faste, Romana watched her husband disrobe and reminisced about their younger days in Hibernia.  She had fallen in love with Liam long before he had even noticed her.  At least that is what she thought.  Liam’s affection for Abaigeal’s mother was well known amongst the citizens in their hometown of Connla, but Keeley was a free spirit and could not be tethered.  Liam still pined for the girl but it was tempered with the reality that she was not meant for their tiny, isolated village.

            And then there was Romana:  Keeley’s closest friend.  Growing up the two girls were inseparable and Liam could not help but notice the tall, blonde Romana.  Where the petite Keeley was adventurous and unpredictable, Romana was grounded and confidant which Liam found irresistible.  However because the two women were such close friends Liam dared not disrespect the proud Romana by coming between their friendship.  But after the death of their mutual friend, Liam and Romana were bound by their shared grief and their responsibility to Keeley’s orphaned daughter.

            Romana looked at her husband and wondered what their lives would have been like if Keeley was still alive, if her foreign lover had never appeared, and if Albion had not swept across their land.

            “Are we…” the celt woman hesitated, “Are we doing the right thing, Liam?”  Liam, her husband – the light of her heart – discarded his shirt.  Before he could don his night clothes Romana remembered another reason why she had fallen in love with the sandy-haired celt.  Like Rayne, Liam was lean and muscular.  He was not particularly tall.  In fact Romana was a hair taller than her husband.  Liam had always been beautiful, and now at over forty winters old he had grown ruggedly handsome.  Even after years of marriage she still desired only him, the woman thought.  Liam smiled warmly at his wife and sighed.

            “I don’t know.  I pray we are.”  Liam approached his wife who was sitting on their bed and pulled free the clasp that held her hair in a tight bun.  Romana’s long blonde hair fell across her shoulders and back.  “At least she will be able to protect herself”

            “Maybe.”  Romana was worried.  “Are we putting her in more danger by training her to seek out war?”

            “War is here already, love.  It will find her whether we want it to or not.”  Liam hugged his wife and ran his fingers through her hair.  Romana stopped her husband from covering his chest with his gown and held him close.  Savoring his smell and the feel of his skin on her check, Romana pulled Liam down for a kiss.

*******

            Abaigeal rested her head on the reclining elf in her bed.  The longing between her thighs had been sated and now she got to keep her man all night.  She knew Rayne could sneak out while she slept; out the window if necessary.  The important thing is that she did not have to leave him or her warm bed.

            That night Rayne had tried to turn their tryst into another lesson, and when Abaigeal realized what he was doing, a fierce glare from “the girl with the temper” put an end to it.  Now in the afterglow of her climax, Abaigeal nuzzled the Rayne’s neck until she saw the tattoo on his left breast.  The young blademistress traced her finger over the markings: three crossed blades.  She had noticed it before during their “naked times” but she never had the chance to ask him about it.

            “What’s this” she asked indicating the tattoo.  Rayne looked down.

            “The folly of youth,” he replied.  Abaigeal slapped him playfully.

            “No, seriously!  Tell me.” 

            Rayne grinned.  “It is the symbol of the Blademaster,” he explained.  “Was,” he added.  Abaigeal understood the reason for the hint of sadness in his voice.  She examined the design closely.

            “Why three blades?” 

            Rayne glanced at his pupil.  “When a Blademaster of Hibernia reaches a certain level,” Rayne paused, “they can wield a third blade.” 

            Abaigeal propped herself up.  “Why have you not taught me this?” 

            Rayne brushed her cheek.  “I fear it is not something I can teach.”  Rayne pulled the naked woman on top of him and rested his hands on her hips.  “The third blade is not a physical blade; it is magical.  It comes to those who have achieved true harmony with the world, and even then it fights for the Blademaster only when they are most in need of it.”

            Breathless, Abaigeal let the words sink in.  “But how do you control it?” 

            Rayne looked deep into her eyes.  “When they are calm and at peace, the third blade becomes an extension of the Blademaster.  Wielding the ethereal blade becomes as natural as wielding the two that you carry with you all of the time.”

            “But how…?”

            “Abaigeal I cannot teach you.”  Rayne sighed and stroked his lover’s tummy.  “I wish I could.”  Abaigeal took Rayne’s hand in her own and placed it on her cheek.  The subject was the source of sadness that much she could tell, but she felt owed an explanation.

            “Have you ever conjured a third blade?”

             “Aye, when the fates demanded it.”

            “Could my mother?”

            “That I do not know.”

            “My father?”

*******

            On the other side of the Three Realms, Lord Cresil stared at Lord Aeryk from across a large round table.  As an infiltrator in the Guild of Shadows, Cresil had been J’nar’s most trusted lieutenant.  The cabalist had risen through the ranks of the guild with Cresil’s aid.  The saracen infiltrator had double-crossed and assassinated many men and women in Albion to aid his master’s cause.  When the invasion of Hibernia was complete – J’nar’s capstone achievement – Cresil was gifted with a place at his master’s side.  But that honor was shared with Lord Aeryk even though it was Cresil who had been instrumental in J’nar’s rise as Emperor of Albion. 

            Cresil never understood Aeryk’s power or why J’nar kept him in their circle, but the infiltrator harbored extreme distrust of the man, and more than a little jealousy.  While Cresil oversaw the Guild of Shadows and directed J’nar’s operations, Lord Aeryk had been sent to Oceanus and the lands of Atlantis to collect artifacts of tremendous power.  J’nar had allowed Aeryk to keep many of the artifacts against Cresil’s advice.  He had warned his master that Aeryk was not to be trusted.  He was, after all, a _mercenary_.

            J’nar, cryptic as always, assured Cresil that Aeryk was necessary.  But Cresil knew little of the man.  Lord Aeryk was physically impressive; most likely of Highland stock.  Using his network of spies Cresil knew Aeryk to be completely loyal to J’nar.  Even though he wielded two blades he was a mercenary in name only.  And those two black blades that Lord Aeryk wielded always gave Cresil pause.  One of them – a sword like no other – had been found deep in Ashen Isle of Atlantis, the other expertly crafted to match in weight and balance and imbued with powerful enchantments of its own.  Cresil feared what other artifacts the man had at his disposal.

            But it was the mercenary’s mysterious past that concerned Cresil the most.

            Lord Aeryk continued to stare at the saracen across the table.  His stare was made all the more menacing by the deep scar over his left eye.  Cresil could not help but shift uncomfortably.  Finally his discomfort was ended by a familiar voice.

            “Lord Aeryk.  To what do we own this pleasure?”  J’nar emerged from the darkness flanked by two mages.  Cresil and Aeryk both turned and kneeled before their master.

            The ancient Avalonian cabalist was feeble – hobbling forward with his staff bearing much of his weigh – but he still carried himself with an air of tremendous power.  His robes were ornate but much of the color muted, and therefore his allegiance to any one school of magic was indiscernible.  But it was the evil mage’s eyes that instilled terror in all who met him. 

            Through decades of dabbling in the darkest of magical arts, J’nar’s eyes had turned completely black.  Now his eyes looked like murky pools of pitch:  glistening, but hollow.  Many who met him thought the old mage was blind, but J’nar could see more than most mortal men.  J’nar now cast those black eyes upon the man who had summoned him.

            “My lord,” Aeryk began as he stood back up, “I have found the location of the stolen relics.” 

            “One, single location, my friend?”  J’nar approached the table and smiled.  The skin on the ancient cabalist’s bald head appeared to protest the very act. 

            “Yes, my lord.”  Aeryk placed a large scroll on the table and unrolled it to reveal a map of the frontiers.  Cresil eyed it suspiciously but remained silent, waiting to see what the emperor’s enforcer had to say.

            “Ex-cellen-t,” J’nar’s voice was a mixture of course stone and slime to all those who heard it.

            “My spies have informed me that the forces of Midgard and their allies are keeping them here.”  Aeryk pointed to one of the Midgard frontier keeps.  Cresil could stay silent no longer.

            “Impossible,” the Saracen stated in a low growl.  “Without the relics residing within their frontier, their powers are useless to them.”  J’nar grinned, but Aeryk ignored the comment.

            “What do you propose, Lord Aeryk?” J’nar asked almost gleefully.  The mercenary fighter traced his finger from where he first indicated all the way to another mark:  the secondary Midgard keep.

            “The frontier keep is well guarded, but a small force could enter and retrieve the relics with little trouble,” Aeryk paused before explaining the rest of his plan.  “A diversionary force attacking the other frontier keep will draw defenders away from the relics making the task a simple one.”  J’nar remained silent, appearing to contemplate his servant’s words.  Cresil, too, turned the plan over in his mind for many moments before breaking the silence.

            “What kind of force could possibly convince them to abandon the defense of the relics?”  Cresil barely hid the disbelief in his voice.  Aeryk turned to the Master Infiltrator.

            “An invasion force.”  Aeryk focused his one good eye on his rival.  J’nar could not help but cackle.

            “Good.  Good!” the cabalist murmured as he looked up from the map.  “I take it you wish to infiltrate the keep and retrieve the relics yourself, my friend?” he asked turning to his Master Mercenary.

            “Yes, my master.”

            “Very well.  Begin your preparations at once, Lord Aeryk.”  With his master’s blessing, Aeryk bowed and left the room.  J’nar studied the map for a time before his second-in-command spoke.

            “I don’t trust him, my lord.”  J’nar’s smile never left his face as he dismissed his mage escorts and signaled Cresil to follow him as he walked.

            “And why not, my friend?”

            “I have received no such intelligence, my lord.”  Following two steps behind his master, Cresil chose who words carefully.  “And we do not have the force for an invasion of Midgard at this time.” 

            J’nar chuckled again.  “You heard our friend, Cresil:  it need only be a diversion.  See to it personally,” the Avalonian turned to his lackey, “Lord Cresil.”

            The saracen stood as his master disappeared into the shadows.  Cresil nodded slowly then turned and walked the other way.


	8. The Battle of Vindsaul Faste, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published July 12th, 2019

* * *

**oOo⌛oOo**

* * *

            Nestled in a quite glade in the forest south of Huginfel there stood a small _tjald_.  For years the glade and its wooden tent had been the favorite hiding spot for a young valkyn girl and her friend – a most curious human.  This afternoon the valkyn cautiously approached their hiding spot, not sure what she was going to find.

            Katzch had known Abaigeal since she was a kitten.  The valkyn girl’s family had been traveling from Aegir to the land of the Norse for the first time when the sudden appearance of the Celt’s and their allies from Hibernia had caused such a commotion.  Up until that time the Valkyn race rarely had contact with the humans and other races of Midgard, but to Katzch’s family the opportunity for trade was too great to pass up.  And when the newcomers from Hibernia arrived, the small group of traveling merchants decided to remain.

            It was shortly after her arrival with her family that the tiny Katzch – barely able to talk – had met the strangest human.  Even though the girl looked like all the other humans, she was not quite Celt and not quite Norse.  Katzch was sure she knew how to sniff out the difference between the two, but this girl proved to be an enigma.  Katzch was immediately fascinated by the girl everyone called “Abaigeal.”

            And Abaigeal, too, was fascinated by the furry Katzch.  Valkyn were like no other race that Abaigeal had seen before.  They looked like wolves that walked on two feet, but they purred.  And they talked!  Abaigeal learned their language quickly even as she was learning the language of the Norse and that of her mother’s people.

          Most importantly the Valkyn were fun to play with.  At least the one Abaigeal had come to know as “Katzch” was a delight.  Being so old and traditional, Great Auntie Lena was always weary of the Valkyn, but that did not stop the two troublemakers.  As toddlers Abaigeal and Katzch caused many residents in Huginfel much irritation by chasing each other through the town laughing and screaming.  As they grew older, the two caused mischief especially with the theft of tools from the local blacksmith – a man whose gruff demeanor made him a delightful target.  Even when they returned his tools he continued to shout at the girls much to their shared mirth.

            When Abaigeal and Katzch matured they became even more inseparable.  Even though her family returned to their home in Aegir’s Landing, the young Katzch remained as she was old enough to fend for herself.  Abaigeal began her training with swords and Katzch sparred with her.  The two girls were as thick as thieves. 

            But lately Katzch had noticed something happening to Abaigeal.  Being an outsider and the only one of her kind currently in the small town of Huginfel, no one would discuss it with the young valkyn.  Katzch eventually caught on to the changes in her best friend, and gave her space.  But today was different.  Today she had gone looking for Abaigeal after some strange commotion in the village only to find the mixed-blood girl missing.  Again no one – especially not the grumpy Lena – would tell her where Abaigeal was.  So the young valkyn used her “brain thinking” and went to her and Abaigeal’s private hiding spot.

            Katzch stopped when she heard crying coming from the tent.  It was a soft whimper, but definitely someone crying.  Katzch approached slowly and circled the tent until she saw Abaigeal sitting next to the fire, her back turned.

            “Abbie?” Katzch called quietly, trying not to scare her friend.  Abaigeal sniffled as she turned to inspect the interloper.

            “Go away,” came the weak reply.  Abaigeal’s words broke Katzch’s heart but not nearly as much as the girl’s tears had.  No more of a loyal friend was there than Katzch.  Abaigeal’s pain brought tears to the valkyn’s eyes, but Katzch’s reaction soon turned to anger.  Katzch wanted to find out who had hurt her Abbie and beat the living snot out of them!  But first she had to find out who to _smish_.  Without a word, Katzch slowly crept into the tent and embraced her dear friend from behind.

            Abaigeal’s sniffles turned into sobs as she hugged her friend back.  After many minutes had passed and her tears had subsided, Abaigeal told Katzch the story.  The young valkyn listened quietly as Abaigeal explained what she and Sven – the blacksmith’s son – had done a few days earlier.  Katzch furrowed her brow at one point in the story and Abaigeal had to delve into slightly more detail.  The young valkyn learned a few new Norse words that day.

            When Abaigeal told Katzch what Sven’s friends had said to her when they found out, she had to drag the furious valkyn back into the tent before Katzch could cause even more trouble.  Abaigeal showed her friend her bruised knuckles and Katzch was satisfied…for the time being. 

            Katzch was considered quite exotic in their small town, and more than a few rumors as to her ferocity had sprung up.  Katzch had capitalized on that fear on more than one occasion and now the valkyn made a mental note to terrify the boys – if even just a little – whenever she saw the opportunity.

            Abaigeal wiped her eyes at the end of her recount of the recent events that Katzch had missed.

            “Now Aunt Lena is mad at me, and when Romana and Uncle Liam get back _they’ll_ be mad at me.  The whole town is mad at me!”  Abaigeal growled and took a swipe at the tent’s surprisingly sturdy _tjaldáss_ causing Katzch to flinch.  The young half-celt fumed for a while before breaking the silence.

            “Are – are _you_ mad at me?” Abaigeal asked.

            “Huh,” Katzch replied dumbly.  “Why would Katzch be mad at Abbie?  Katzch would never be mad at Abbie!”  Katzch smiled at her friend in an attempt to lift Abaigeal’s spirits.  Abaigeal could not help herself and laughed at her friend, but the tears returned and she grabbed her furry companion in a tight hug.

            The two friends spent the rest of the afternoon hunting small animals.  As the daylight waned Katzch motioned back towards the town, but Abaigeal was not ready to return.  Stoking the fire, Abaigeal sat beside her friend and the two girls ate what they had caught.  By the time the stars began to reveal themselves, Abaigeal was exhausted; the day’s events had weighed heavily on the girl.  The pair snuggled under some furs next to the fire.  Abaigeal tried to sleep, but Katzch was wide awake.

            The young valkyn kept turning her friend’s story over in her mind.  Katzch was fascinated by what Abaigeal and Sven had done.  It sounded like it should have been fun, but not the way her friend had described it.  Abaigeal had said it was awkward and hurt a little.  Katzch remembered sneaking peeks in on her parents years ago doing something like what Abaigeal described, but they seemed to truly enjoy it.

            Abbie was Katzch’s best friend, the young valkyn thought.  She deserved to be happy.  It just wasn’t fair:  first she loses her mommy and daddy, then her home, and now people were mad at her when instead they should be mad at those awful boys!

            Katzch squeezed her friend tightly from behind and began to purr.  Whenever Abaigeal felt the deep tonal fluttering of her best friend’s contented breathing it never failed to put her at ease, and this was a time she needed it the most.  Abaigeal heaved a deep sigh and Katzch smiled in the pale light of the dying campfire.

            Abaigeal was falling asleep in her friend’s embrace until she felt a pair of furry paws worm their way under her tunic.  The soft fur tickled Abaigeal’s skin making her squirm.  When she could no longer take the sensation, the mixed-blood girl turned over.

            “Kaa-atzch!”  Abaigeal admonished her friend, but when she received no response she turned to stoke the fire before checking on her tent-mate.  The orange glow of the fire revealed not the valkyn’s usual mischievous grin but instead a warm, comforting smile.  Abaigeal stared at Katzch quizzically for a few heartbeats before finally breaking the silence.  “What?”

            Katzch nuzzled Abaigeal’s chin tentatively before reaching up to kiss her friend on the nose.

            “Abbie is a good friend.  Katzch want Abbie to feel better and be happy,” Katzch whispered.  Abaigeal remained oblivious to the valkyn’s meaning until she felt Katzch gently stroking her exposed tummy.  Katzch gazed back at her friend – her green eyes beckoning – waiting for an answer.

            Abaigeal stared wide-eyed at Katzch, her breathing becoming ragged.  The two girls had always been close, and Abaigeal could not deny the appeal of her friend’s invitation, but the implications of the act itself terrified her.  Growing up Abaigeal had heard of some women in the order of the Valkyrie who became intimate, but even that was only rumor.  There was not even a word for the act between two women that Abaigeal knew of.  What would happen to them if someone found out? Abaigeal wondered.  But the young mixed-blood girl’s emotions and libido triumphed in the end.

            Slowly Abaigeal leaned into Katzch’s face.  The valkyn’s warm breath stole all thoughts from the girl’s head and the last shred of her resolve crumbled as their lips met.  The rest of the night was a blur for Abaigeal and Katzch.  Both clothing and tears of joy were shed amidst the passionate tangle of limbs.

            Katzch had not seen Abbie naked since they were very young, but even in the auburn glow of the fire the valkyn could tell the half-celt girl’s body had changed considerably.  Katzch’s body had changed as well, but in different ways, and with no other of her kind to explain it to her she had to draw her own conclusions.  Katzch did not fully understand her feelings either, but she did know that holding her friend so closely made her feel wonderful.

            Both Abaigeal and Katzch learned much about each other that night.  By the time Odin’s Chariot had crossed nearly half the sky, the two friends were exhausted and sleep came easily to both.

*******

            The next morning, Abaigeal and Katzch walked hand-in-hand back to Huginfel, their friendship stronger than ever.

* * *

**oOo⌛oOo**

* * *

            In a secluded part of the high keep ramparts, Abaigeal watched Rayne practice.  The days had grown longer, and the sun climbed higher each day.  A fresh snowfall sparkled under the midday sunshine in Svasud Faste, and the young blademistress poked at the snowpack feeling the crunch under her boot. 

            Life with Rayne had been…nice for Abaigeal.  Yes, _nice_ , she thought, smiling.  Every night had been _nice_.  Every night she would make her way to Rayne’s quarters under cover of darkness, or he would come to her.  And every night would end in pure, exhaustive bliss.  One night they met in the frontier keep’s abandoned tower.  Abaigeal grinned at the memory of that particular night.  _Yes_ , she thought, _nice_.

            And the training was no longer a chore.  Indeed it almost seemed like foreplay now.  Abaigeal continued to train even though she was certain she and Rayne were now evenly matched.  Sometimes she suspected he was holding back against her, and sometimes she wondered if there was a skill or technique he was not teaching her.  But she trusted Rayne.  He had never given her reason not to.

            Abaigeal stood up and gracefully sauntered over to her teacher.  Rayne paused his routine when he noticed his pupil.  Abaigeal had a wry grin on her face.  Tucking her hair behind her ear, the young woman hooked a finger in Rayne’s belt and tugged.  The elf cocked an eyebrow.

            “Careful, Abaigeal.  We could be spotted,” Rayne cautioned.  Abaigeal frowned.

            “Maybe we should tell people,” Abaigeal proposed.

            “Your uncle would never speak to me again.”  Abaigeal shrugged at Rayne’s suggestion.  “And Romana would see to it that no one ever found my body.”  Abaigeal laughed, but her mood turned a little darker.

            “Do…do you think we’ll ever be able to tell anyone?”  Rayne had feared this question since the beginning of their relationship.  The elf looked down and avoided his lover’s gaze.  Abaigeal’s heart sank, but then another problem presented itself.

            “Abbie?” came a small voice from behind.  Abaigeal gasped and spun around to see a familiar furry face.

            “Katzch!”  Abaigeal was elated to see her friend until she noticed the valkyn’s expression.  Katzch’s brow was knit in what could only be described as dismay as she glanced from Abaigeal to the elf behind her. 

            Abaigeal froze.  She wondered how much Katzch had seen and heard.  She wanted to hug her friend.  She wanted to tell her everything.  She wanted to apologize.  Abaigeal tentatively approached her friend, but Katzch recoiled slightly before stretching out her neck and sniffing. 

            Katzch’s eyes grew wet.  Her dearest friend reeked of the elf…and more.  Hiding behind her paw, Katzch backed up towards the exit. 

            “K-Katzch go now,” the valkyn whispered as she bolted for the door.

            “No, no, no!  Katzch, wait!” Abaigeal cried as she pursued her friend.  But Valkyns are quick.  Before Abaigeal could reach the courtyard, Katzch had already mounted a pony and sped from the keep.

            Out of breath, Abaigeal asked the stable master where she was going and was told the valkyn was returning to Vindsaul Faste.  Despondent, Abaigeal found Rayne were she had left him and grabbed him in a tight hug.

            “She’s gone.”  Tears began to well up in her eyes.  Rayne was unsure of what to make of the situation.

            “Do you believe she will reveal our secret?” the elf asked.

            “You don’t understand.”  Abaigeal wiped her eyes.  “She’s my friend!”  The young woman was growing frustrated.

            “I am sorry, Abaigeal.  I had forgotten your fondness for the animal.” 

            “What did you just say?!” Abaigeal growled, pushing the elf away.  Rayne winced at his slip of the tongue and tried to calm his lover.

            Before the fall of Hibernia the native elves had a reputation.  Distrust and outright derision of other races – even the other races of Hibernia – was commonplace amongst the tall, magical people.  As a child of the High Elves, Rayne had difficulty shaking off his upbringing, _especially_ when it came to Hibernia’s former enemies.  In the years before Midgard and Hibernia became allies, Rayne had fought the dwarves, trolls, kobolds, and even valkyn, killing many.

            “My apologies, Abaigeal; old habits,” he stammered only making his situation worse.

            In her head Abaigeal began to replay the last few moons she had spent with Rayne.  Every lesson, every interaction, and every subtle behavior she now saw in a different light.  The young woman began questioning everything she and Rayne had done.

            “You…you…” Abaigeal was beyond furious.  “Are all elves complete bastards, or is it just you?” she screamed.  “It is no wonder you’re afraid of a knife in your back at every turn:  every Hibernian exile remembers what you were like even before your kind ran off and abandoned them!”

            “Abaigeal,” Rayne tried to admonish, much to his detriment, “this is not a good idea.”  Abaigeal had had enough.  Stomping in a circle she looked around until she found the training dummy and slammed her fist into its stuffed head with an angry roar.  Turning back to the elf she fumed for several deep, angry breaths.  Standing up straight, the fierce young woman looked Rayne in the eye.

            “Do you even love me?”

            “Abaigeal…”  Rayne regretted his hesitation immediately.

            “Oh, by Hel, I _knew_ it!”  Rayne cautiously went for one of his swords when Abaigeal pulled out a dagger; however the young woman thrust the short blade into the groin of the already abused training dummy – giving it a twist for good measure – before turning back to the elf.

            “Stay away from me, skitstövel!”  Satisfied, the enraged Abaigeal stormed off growling more epithets that Rayne could only guess were referring to his heritage.

*******

            The snow-covered lands beyond the Midgard frontier keep were quiet save for a few mountain hares foraging for food in the early spring.  But an unseen force moved ever closer to the keep that had so far remained impenetrable.  With the aid of powerful magic gleaned from the Atlantean ruins, five Albion Centuriae advanced towards their target silently and invisibly.

            Within each group a Spymaster of Albion accompanied their commander and their soldiers, and kept hidden their most precious weapon: the trebuchet.  Behind each trebuchet, alchemists prepared that most foul of concoctions:  Greek Fire.  At the rear of the formation Lord Cresil watched his own centuria and listened to the reports of his scouts.  All appeared to be proceeding according to plan.  The J’nar’s Master Infiltrator tightened the clasps on his armor and sent orders to deploy into the final formation.

            Cresil had many doubts regarding this campaign.  His orders were clear:  draw the defenders away from the relics so as to allow Lord Aeryk to retrieve them.  But the distraction could prove costly.  Midgard would defend its homeland with fervor once it realized it could be on the verge of an invasion.  So Cresil made the decision to bring nearly five hundred men and women on this campaign.  He hoped it would be enough.  The seasoned warrior was no longer young and reckless; the lives of those under his command were precious to him.  Losing too many warriors could make an _actual_ invasion impossible.  Cresil needed the campaign to go off without a hitch, and surprise was of the utmost importance.  However that surprise was on the verge of being lost.

            In between Cresil’s formations hid a lurikeen – in a tree.  The terrified Hibernian ranger had been following a tip and found himself in far deeper than he had imagined.  When he first surveyed the area outside his adopted homeland’s frontier keep, it was as empty as he had expected it.  But then the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he knew something was horrifically wrong.  Using his innate abilities, the lurikeen ranger saw through the spymasters’ camouflage. 

            It was a triumph of his skills, but it would do him little good.  The moment he left his hiding spot, the entire Albion force would see him.  But the lurikeen had no choice.  The frontier keep was protected by hundreds of the most powerful mages and fighters.  A single one of them could destroy swaths of invaders with little effort.  But this Albion force was like none other the lurikeen had seen.  Only one other force in recent history had been this large:  the very army that swept the diminutive ranger’s beloved homeland not even two decades ago.  The lurikeen trembled at the memory.  His allies in Midgard had to be warned.

            Bolting from his tree, the ranger sprinted at full speed towards Midgard and immediately the alarm cries went out.  Cresil saw the escaping defender and cursed.

            “Are we in position yet?” Cresil yelled.

            “No, my lord.  Not yet,” replied a red-plated armsman – Cresil’s second-in-command.

            “Dammit!  Break cloak, push the artillery into position at full speed and for God’s sake, _someone_ _kill that lurikeen!_ ”

            Arrows began whistling past the escaping ranger.  Glancing back, the lurikeen saw several minstrels giving chase.  Using their talents, the specialized rogues of Albion were closing in on him quickly.  If he did not do something immediately, the ranger knew he would not live to see the next sunset, let alone make it back to the keep to warn his allies. 

            With practiced precision the ranger drew his bow and nocked an arrow on the run.  Taking a deep breath he turned and loosed the arrow which hit one of his pursuers between the eyes.  Immediately he nocked a second arrow and slipped to the side to avoid another barrage of the Albion force’s own arrows.

            After felling the next closest minstrel with another precision shot with his bow, the lurikeen abandoned his weapon and concentrated on getting the warning out.  Suddenly a roar passed overhead.  Looking up, the ranger’s heart sank.  The forward trebuchets – having been close enough to position – began to deliver their payload.  Orange balls of flaming pitch sailed high overhead. 

            “No!”  The ranger knew he was too late, but he held out hope that he was close enough for someone to hear.  Pulling out a bronze horn, the lurikeen blew as hard as possible while still running.

            A hundred yards to the south, on the high ramparts of the Midgard frontier keep, only one defender heard the strange call.  A dwarf – the keep commander – turned just in time to be engulfed by the flames of the first Albion projectile.

*******

            “What is going on?”  Abaigeal was distracted from her anger with Rayne when she heard the alarm.  Dozens of men and women of Svasud Faste were scrambling for horses.  By the time that Abaigeal had found her uncle the keep was down to just a few defenders who were busy securing the frontier gate.

            “Abaigeal!” Liam called.  “Thank Danu, I found you.”

            “What is happening?” Abaigeal asked frantically, running to her uncle.

            “Vindsaul Faste is under attack.”  Her uncle’s words filled Abaigeal with horror.  “Abaigeal, you must hide; it’s not safe for you here.”  Liam tried to grab his niece by the arm.

            “No!” she yelled pulling away, “Katzch is there!  I have to help her!”  Liam tried to grab Abaigeal but she was too fast.  Abaigeal ran to the stables.  Her uncle was about to give chase until he heard a scream from the frontier side of the castle.

            “Romana!”  Liam was torn, but – out of the corner of his eye – the celt ranger saw Rayne running after Abaigeal.  With Abaigeal’s fate in Rayne’s hand, Liam said a quick prayer for his adopted daughter and ran up the stairwell to find his wife.

*******

            The remaining Albion trebuchets reached position and the barrage on Vindsaul Faste began in full.  Defenders poured into the keep from the surrounding towns, and the warriors of Midgard scrambled to secure the keep alongside their Hibernian allies.  However with the portcullis wide open and its controls inaccessible, the keep was vulnerable.  With the Vindsaul Faste’s commander nowhere to be found and presumed dead on the ramparts, the young commander Haudgrek took control of the chaos.

            “Secure the frontier doors!” Haudgrek shouted.  Dozens of men and woman from the two realm’s placed several makeshift braces against the frontier-facing doors as Haudgrek organized his warriors.  “Send out the call to all of Midgard!  We need everyone here, now!”

*******

            On the far side of the keep, Lord Cresil could not believe his luck.  What was meant to be a distraction was turning out more successful than he had imagined.  Having never informed the men and women of his command of the true purpose of their mission, the Saracen decided to press the attack and see what happened.  In the meantime he dispatched a scout to the secondary target, Svasud Faste.

*******

            Arriving at Vindsaul Faste in the midst of the chaos, Katzch was confused.  Never before had she seen so many solders, and so much commotion.  The din was tremendous, and the lone valkyn looked desperately for answers.  Once she understood the peril, Katzch ran for the relic room.  If invaders were coming, Katzch knew she would make an easy target out in the open, but in the confines of the Vindsaul Faste relic vault, her abilities would prove much more deadly.

            Inside the fortified vault, Katzch found two other stalwart fighters.  The soldiers immediately recognized the valkyn savage’s battle prowess.  The three defenders locked themselves in the vault and waited.

*******

            Outside the vault the assault continued.  Dozens more defenders had arrived and commander Haudgrek sent more people to try to reach the portcullis wench only to see them cut down by arrows and fireballs. 

            “What in Thor’s name is happening out there?” Haudgrek shouted angrily at his lieutenant as the pair ducked to avoid a massive splatter of flaming pitch that hurtled over the keep’s wall. 

            “We don’t know, sir,” the young female norsewoman replied.  Raesind shadowed her commander.  The young defender had never seen battle before in her life and could not quell the fear that was rising to the surface. 

            “Eyes!  I need eyes on the other side, _now_!” 

            Suddenly the frontier-facing doors shook.  The mayhem that had enveloped the courtyard paused for a moment as all eyes turned to the keep doors.  For several breaths, the only sound Raesind could hear beyond her terrified breathing was a low, anguished groan emanating from the other side.  The sound stopped for a second before another strike bowed the doors, threatening to crumple the braces holding them closed.  The young woman staggered back – her throat emitting a tiny whimper.  Commander Haudgrek stood firm and gritted his teeth as he looked back to the Midgard side of the keep.

            “Prepare to close the entrance,” Haudgrek told his men.

            “But we don’t have enough people!” Raesind cried.  “We need to let more aid through!”

            “It will have to be enough!” the commander yelled.  “We have no choice; the portcullis is lost!  We are Midgard’s last hope.”  The men, women and races, and allies of the Midgard-Hibernia alliance got into position.

*******

            On the high ramparts of the frontier-side of the Vindsaul Faste keep, a lone figure stirred amongst the flames and destruction that was raining down around him.  Badly burned and covered in flaming pitch, the dwarf warrior pulled himself along the stone surface of the keep by his hands with a singular purpose.  The determined dwarf inched ever slowly but steadily towards the wench that controlled the portcullis.  Be it his last act before succumbing to the fire, the commander of Vindsaul Faste keep would protect his homeland.

*******

            At Svasud Faste Abaigeal rushed to the keep’s stable master.  The weathered norseman was already holding two more horses for the next defenders who needed them.  The young half-celt woman leapt onto the saddle of the mare and grabbed the reigns.  Without a word Abaigeal was through the south gate and headed to Vindsaul Faste.  Not far behind her followed the elf.

            Rayne had hopped onto the second horse and was well on his way to catching up with his pupil.  Being more attuned with nature, many elves were expert horsemen.  The High Elves – who considered themselves the most civilized – were more practiced in the art of horsemanship than their forest brethren.  Rayne was especially skilled with the beasts.

            Abaigeal pushed her steed as hard as she could.  The brown mare was quick, but nothing would satisfy the young woman who was desperate to reach her friend.  The mare’s hooves pounded the ground with a thunderous roar, and soon the sound of another’s joined the chorus.

            Rayne’s black stallion raced past Abaigeal and her mare with ease.  Abaigeal cursed and pushed her mount harder.  The poor mare was growing weary of her rider’s impatience and slowed.  Abaigeal growled but realized she would get nowhere if she abused her horse.  Watching Rayne pull further and further ahead – in what she was sure was an attempt to reach Vindsaul Faste first just to spite her – Abaigeal made a promise to punch the racist swine in the face when this was all over.

*******

            Lord Aeryk watched Svasud Faste empty of most of its defenders and knew the attack on Vindsaul Faste had begun.  Signaling silently to the two infiltrators at his side, the trio made their way up a small path beside the keep.  It was a narrow and treacherous passage but the sure-footed saracen men flanking their lord had no trouble traversing it.  Lord Aeryk – who towered over the infiltrators – seemed to ignore the danger as though he was immune to fear.  The dark lord climbed the path with an unnatural confidence.

            Soon Aeryk and his escorts reached a hidden access point to the keep high above the forest floor.  No one but the most astute stalkers could have found the secret entrance; knowledge of its existence having long been forgotten.  The lead saracen hesitated before Aeryk pushed passed him and jumped over the gap between the mountain and the parapet wall.  Seeing his lord make the jump safely, the first infiltrator followed making sure to land on the same spot.  The second infiltrator slipped and struggled to climb through the crenelle, nearly falling to his death.  Lord Aeryk ignored his plight but the man’s companion rushed back to help.  Without missing a beat the dark lord continued down the walkway and into the first corridor.  Aeryk’s men did their best to keep up.

           Lord Aeryk was a loyal servant of J’nar and had been one of the evil emperor’s top lieutenants for some time.  However in an organization such as the Guild of Shadows, one makes enemies even among those who are supposed to serve a common purpose.  Aeryk’s greatest achievement was convincing almost all those around him that he stood alone.  Without loyal troops no one thought to search for a weakness among those close to him.  The dark lord appeared to be an island.  And that is what he wanted everyone to think.

            But Lord Aeryk had many loyal men under his command.  Some that he thought not even his master J’nar knew about.  Some were loyal out of fear or greed, but some were loyal out of admiration.  It was these men that Aeryk trusted the most.  He rarely made personal contact with his henchmen and when he did they knew it was serious.  The two saracen infiltrators that escorted Lord Aeryk on his mission were just such men and they would follow their master to their deaths if it were required of them.  They had no idea this mission would give them the opportunity.

            The infiltrators caught up with their master as he walked past empty barracks and other small rooms of the now nearly deserted Svasud Faste.  Lord Aeryk motioned to a room and one of the infiltrators silently entered it.  The room’s occupant had no time to scream when their throat was slit.  A moment later the infiltrator exited the room to rejoin his master and watch his companion slip into a second room to perform the same duty.

            And so it went on.  Aeryk sent his two soldiers into several rooms and in each one they found an unsuspecting victim.  The two men knew their orders and so far all they had found were the typical defenders of Midgard.  That is until the last chamber.

            Aeryk continued on beyond the last door intending to turn the corner when he heard a cry.  This was not the death cry of a defender.  The dark lord turned to see his second minion rush to his companion’s aid only to be cut down before he could reach the door.

            A fully-armored blonde woman sprang from the room, her two-handed great sword positioned to block the assassin’s initial strike.  The infiltrator ducked and lunged forward expecting to undercut the woman’s blade but he underestimated her skill.  The Celt Heroine knocked the man’s weapons away with the hilt of her sword then continued her swing, severing his spine just below his neck.  Taking a deep breath, the fighter pulled her sword free of the dead man.

            However Romana had no time to revel in her victory; the moment the fight ended she realized she was not alone.  The normally fearless warrior felt a chill crawl down her spine as she turned to see J’nar’s champion staring at her from the end of the corridor.

            “Cá bhfuil sí?” Aeryk asked evenly in the woman’s native tongue.  Romana trembled as her fear turned to rage.

            “You stay away from her!” the heroine shrieked as she raised her sword and charged.

*******

            The Vindsaul Faste gate was beginning to buckle.  Nearly three hundred defenders watched with the grim knowledge that the battle was about to begin in earnest.  Archers of the two allied realms lined the upper walkway at the rear of the keep beside eldritches, spiritmasters and other mages.  Each and every one of them aimed their attacks at the doors and waited.  In the courtyard below the melee fighters lined up behind their shields.  Every defender watched as the battering ram thudded against the frontier doors and they began to splinter. 

            Commander Haudgrek made the call.

            “Seal the rear door!”  Midgard’s last defense against the Albion onslaught was closed and several men and woman secured the Midgard-side door from the outside.  Leaping from his horse at the last moment, the elf blademaster Rayne was the last defender to slip through the outer doors before they were sealed.  Brandishing his weapons, Rayne joined his comrades for the fight.  Outside the gates, Abaigeal arrived too late and pounded on the closed doors to no avail.  Left with only one alternative, the half-celt blademistress began to scale the keep walls.

            At the north side of the keep, the battering ram punctured a hole in the doors before disappearing.  In its place large hooks appeared which secured themselves before a team of horses began pulling.  Above them the blackened and burned dwarf finally reached his destination and pulled the lever releasing the portcullis wench; his last act before succumbing to his wounds.  As the portcullis began its descent, the keep doors were ripped asunder and a phalanx ten men wide drove forward to absorb the hundreds of arrows and magical missiles from the keep defenders.

            Several highlanders wearing next to nothing but kilts ran forward to prop up the portcullis with cabers.  One of them was felled by an arrow before he could insert the tall log, but another man was right behind him to pick up the caber in his stead.  With the cabers wedged into place, and the portcullis no longer an obstacle to the invaders, the phalanx of plated armsmen pushed into the keep.  When the first barrage of arrows ended, Albion scouts rose up from between the rows of armsmen and let loose their own arrows.  Scores of defenders on the ramparts were killed and the Battle of Vindsaul Faste began.

*******

            From his observation post outside Vindsaul Faste, Lord Cresil could not believe what he was witnessing.  But when one of his spies pulled him aside with new information, the saracen scowled.

            “Find this ‘vault’,” he ordered angrily.

*******

            Vindsaul Faste was plunged into chaos.  Every defender, both that of Midgard and their Hibernian compatriots believed this to be their last stand against the invaders and complete annihilation at the hands of Albion.  The fight at the inner ward of the western Midgard frontier gate deteriorated into a multitude of small battles.  Rayne moved from fight to fight trying to protect his allies, sometimes succeeding and sometimes not.  The defenders of Vindsaul Faste fought valiantly for their homeland and it appeared that the Albion incursion into the frontier keep had at least been slowed.

            But then a new entity appeared on the field, one that could turn the tide of battle.  Through the broken Vindsaul Faste gates they strode, remaining behind the initial line of battle until they knew the enemy had been softened.  The _eahta-kin_ :  eight fighters, men and women of Albion, a relic of the past, but deadly none-the-less.

            In decades past they fought for glory and honor in the old frontiers.  They came from all sides of the conflict:  the Albion _Eahta-kin_ , the Midgardian _Åtta-kår_ , and the Hibernian _Ocht-fear_.  They cared little for the subjugation or invasion of the lands of their enemy; simply proving their strength and coordination as a small and deadly team had entitled them to the rewards of their homeland. 

            Prior to The Fall such groups from Albion consisted of holy men of the Albion god:  clerics and their brothers in Christ:  the friars and paladins.  They were joined by wizards and sorcerers who immersed themselves in the lore of magic, eager to prove the strength of the elements.  And finally the armsman:  the valiant defenders of Albion.  But those days were long gone.  Midgard and Hibernia had to abandon honor fighting in favor of survival, and the Albion _eahta-kin_ evolved into something much more sinister.

            This group from Albion in particular was known for their blasphemous ways.  Gone were the Clerics, replaced by the Heretics.  A disciple of Arawn – the god of the underworld – the heretic could heal their Albion brethren but they hid a much darker secret.  This group forwent any member of the church in favor of not one but two heretics.

            At the rear of the group, from the Guild of Shadows, the cabalist leaned on his staff and was protected by his simulacrum – a golem created from the purest ruby.  Beside the cabalist stood a particularly sadistic wizard – a man known for his love of destruction with fire. 

            Then there was the Necromancer; no other mage of the three realms garnered more fear.  The necromancer himself tucked safely away in the aether while his skeletal abomination – a daemon from the netherworld – rendered the life from his foes.

            At the head of the _eahta-kin_ stood a woman clad in black chain armor wielding a wicked spiked flail and protected by a tower shield.  As another follower of Arawn known as Reavers, the woman’s wild eyes bespoke her mania and devotion to the pain and death her god demanded.  The reaver waited for the signal from her leader, one of the two mercenaries of the group.

            The two mercenaries – the Briton man and his lover – who ran the motley crew were not even privy to the true reason for their involvement in the battle; the pair cared only for the gold promised to them for escorting the necromancer and his allies into Vindsaul Faste.  The female mercenary looked to her companion expectantly only to see him survey the field for several tense moments before giving a signal. 

            The subtle gesture was picked up by the reaver who’s darting eyes finally focused on the fight that was about to begin.  Calling forth her abilities, the woman shrieked.  However the blood-curdling scream was lost amongst the battle that surrounded them.  No one heard the tell-tale scream except for one man.

            Against the din of battle, Rayne’s keen ears picked up the sound of the reaver’s spell. 

The shriek brought to the surface memories of the days long ago when the elf roamed the Hibernian frontier in defense of his old homeland.  Rayne had heard the sound many times and it never failed to strike fear into his heart.  He looked toward the source of the cry and saw what he and the defenders of Vindsaul Faste were up against.

            “Thornweed field!” the elf warned, but there was no escaping it.

            From the frozen ground erupted dozens of vines.  Covered in razor-sharp barbs, the tendrils darted across the battlefield at inhuman speed in search of anything that moved.  The vines were as thick as a man’s arm and seemed to seek out their prey.  Those who were unlucky enough to be caught were immobilized in place which made them easy targets.  The largest trolls and firbolgs managed to free themselves, but anything smaller than a man had its fleshed rendered from the bone by the vicious barbs.  Only the defenders of Vindsaul Faste were ensnared.  The enchanted vine – either through control by the Reaver or an inhuman sentience – knew to avoid its Albion allies. 

            Realizing that the battle was quickly heading for disaster for his comrades, Rayne knew the only way to fight this new terror was with an _ocht-fear_ of his own.  Using the old vernacular _,_ Rayne gathered a firbolg champion who in turn hacked his dwarven companion from the weeds.  The two followed Rayne’s lead and found others who could work together:  a kobold with a staff bristling with energy, a celt druid, a norse shaman, a lurikeen nightshade, and a troll wielding two axes.

            Rayne had little time to examine his hastily-assembled group.  All he could do what give his own signal.  The kobold strode up beside Rayne and began her own spell.  With a touch of her staff, many of the vines froze and began to wither.  Now the odds were even, but the mercenaries leading the Albion _eahta-kin_ were not about to be stopped.

            The mercenaries charged at Rayne and his companions.  Rayne and the firbolg braced themselves for the attack alongside their other two melee fighters.  However instead of entering a defensive stance, the dwarf pulled out his own pair of axes, slapped the troll on side of the head.  What the troll and the dwarf did next caused even Rayne to flinch.

            Calling upon their patron god Modi, the two axe-wielding fighters bellowed a fearsome curse that startled everyone around them.  The troll was the first to start convulsing followed by his dwarven companion.  Rayne quickly realized what was happening and regretted his choice.  The Berserkers – the Vikings who served the Norse god Modi – could cut down swaths of men with ease, but at a tremendous cost.  With no concern to them but the death of their enemy, berserkers forfeited almost all defenses in favor of attack – often slaughtering friend and foe alike.

            The two berserkers charged ahead of the stunned Rayne and were immediately engulfed in flames.  Rayne looked to see the source of the magical fire that threatened to immolate the berserkers:  heretics chanting their dark incantations.  Undeterred, the berserkers barreled towards the opposing group and the two mercenaries at the front.  With no means of protecting themselves from the psychotic Vikings, both mercenaries scattered to avoid the attack; however they were not the target. 

            Behind the defending group, the female kobold now had a clear line of side and let loose a barrage of energy at one of the heretics.  The red-robed disciple of Arawn took the full brunt of the spell which sent him hurtling backwards.  When the heretic hit the north wall of Vindsaul Faste, dozens of defenders and invaders alike were showered in the glowing ash of the man’s remains. 

            With the dead heretic’s spell no longer hindering his movement, the troll berserker rushed forward and blocked his fellow berserker from the view of the second heretic.  But before the troll berserker could reach the second heretic he was intercepted by the ruby simulacrum.  Even in his frenzied state, the troll skidded to a halt and cleaved the cabalist’s pet with both axes.  But the creature was stronger than it appeared and its master smirked.  The smile quickly faded when the troll crouched down revealing his dwarf companion running up his back.

            Using the troll as a ramp, the dwarf leapt across the battlefield towards the rear of the Albion forces and directly at the remaining heretic.  Unfortunately the group’s wizard foresaw the strategy and sent the dwarf hurtling back to his friends engulfed in a sheet of flame.  The troll roared in anger and batted the simulacrum out of the way leaving the hapless cabalist open to attack.  With his twin axes the troll sent the upper half of the mage’s body to the left and the lower half to the right.

            Still in the midst of his frenzy, the troll swung at the next closest person and Rayne missed losing his head by only a hair.  The elf had rushed to the troll’s side and managed to intercept a blow meant for the distracted berserker.  When the troll looked up it was met with the skeletal visage of an abomination of the underworld.  The necromancer pet’s great sword was locked with Rayne’s twin blades which gave the troll a heartbeat to react.

            With a mighty roar the troll pushed Rayne aside and began beating on the skeleton with both axes.  The abomination shrugged off most of the blows.  When the troll tried to take another swing, the skeletal abomination intercepted his wrist with impossible speed.  With one axe immobilized the troll beat on the skeleton with his remaining weapon.  However the monster simply stared back with its horrifying grin and began to grow spikes from its very bones.  The razor-sharp protrusions sliced into the troll’s wrist as it howled in pain.  Rayne knew he had to act quickly.

            Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, Rayne tried to shut out the world around him as he focused on the abomination.  Amongst the din of the battle, Rayne saw the link that anchored the monster in the realm of the living:  the necromancer.  Several feet away Rayne saw the shimmer in the air that gave away the mage’s position.

            Sheathing his right sword, Rayne steadied himself for a moment before a magical blade suddenly appeared in his right hand.  The necromancer watched Rayne with the confidence that – as long as his pet was present – he was untouchable.  Or so the necromancer thought.

            Before the necromancer realized with whom exactly he was dealing, Rayne lunged with his ethereal blade.  The short, magical dagger struck the air near the necromancer and slowed as it passed into the netherworld and into the dark mage’s flesh.  The necromancer’s face contorted in pain as the blade stole the life from his body.  Hearing its master’s screams, the abomination turned to give aid, however – still trapped in the netherworld – the man’s spirit was beset upon by the demons that resided on the other side of the living.  With the necromancer dead, the link was severed and the skeletal abomination collapsed in a heap of bones. 

            Rayne quickly sheathed his dagger and turned to find himself alone and with both mercenaries charging at him.  The elf rolled to the side to avoid the attack.  When he turned around with both blades at the ready the female mercenary had already been knocked aside by a blast from an eldritch leaving only her companion to deal with.  When the remaining mercenary saw what he was up against, he grinned.  Never in his wildest dreams did he think he would ever have to opportunity to cross blades with a Blademaster, and an elf at that.  The man ignored his injured lover and taunted the elf.

            “The last of your kind, elf!” the man yelled.  “Your head will fetch a king’s ransom!”  Rayne knew the language well enough to understand the threat.  Rayne also knew that the man was keenly unaware of his surroundings. 

            The mercenary raised his swords and was about to lunge when his entire body went rigid; his eyes betraying his surprise.  Despite of – or due to – his bravado, the man did not notice the nightshade behind him until the diminutive assassin’s poisons were coursing through his body.  His lungs paralyzed and his screams silenced, the mercenary collapsed in front of Rayne.  Behind the dead mercenary the lurikeen nightshade retrieved his daggers from his victim’s back and spat a curse at the man.

            Rayne breathed a sigh of relief and surveyed the field.  Much of the opposing group was dead.  The reaver lay in a pool of her own blood, the second heretic was face down several paces away with six arrows in his chest, the wizard was nowhere to be seen, and the remaining mercenary was limping through the gates and back to the frontier.

            The immediate threat was over, but the battle for Vindsaul Faste raged on.


	9. The Battle of Vindsaul Faste, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Published August 4th, 2019

 

            Many leagues from the battle that engulfed the western frontier keep of Vindsaul Faste, a smaller but no less important conflict was taking place.  Romana and Aeryk clashed swords high atop the walkways of Svasud Faste, but there was no one about to witness it; Lord Aeryk had seen to that. 

            Romana had placed the intruder on the defensive.  Clad in her brilliant scale armor, the Celt Heroine was well protected, but the sturdy armor made her slower than the mercenary she faced.  Even though her skill with the two-handed sword made up for her lost agility, too many well-placed hits from Lord Aeryk’s enchanted blades could leave her grievously wounded.  Romana would have to rely on all of her training to defeat her most dreaded adversary.

            Romana was a veteran of many battles and had achieved a level in her order – those seeking the Path of Focus – matched by no others in the exiled community of Hibernians.   Romana’s great sword – measuring nearly four feet in length – was forged from the finest arcanite by the smiths of Midgard.  It had been a gift for Romana’s service to the people of Midgard, and forged with material of her native land.  Romana wielded the sword with incredible skill.  But she was not facing an ordinary foe.

            Batting away Romana’s initial blows with his twin swords, Lord Aeryk began responding with his own attacks.  He was used to fighting alone and indeed often maimed or killed friend and foe alike in the pursuit of victory.  But allies were plentiful and few would know who killed whom on the battlefield.  And now Lord Aeryk faced a formidable foe one-on-one as he had many times before.  But he was uninterested in a quick death for his opponent, and his fluid movements pushed Romana back down the walkway.

            Romana felt a wave of panic.  Aeryk’s swords worked quickly and the heroine had to go on the defensive.  She realized she was outmatched with her single sword.  Most of Romana’s opponents could be cut down quickly with her heavy weapon, but when faced with one who could block her blows the great sword became a liability.  She needed to turn the tide quickly, or else.

            Grabbing her great sword’s blade with her gloved hand, Romana slapped Aeryk’s swords aside.  Using the momentum, Romana tried to slash the invader’s gut only to have the attack blocked again by Aeryk’s second blade.  Aeryk responded with a cross-cut towards the woman’s head.  Romana slashed downward hard to block the attack and the two opponents’ blades were locked.  Aeryk pushed the woman back, his breathing remained even and his expression stoic as always.  This was in contrast to Romana’s labored panting and her face contorted in desperate fear.

            This man had breached the defenses of one of the most heavily-guarded fortresses in Midgard in search of Abaigeal.  This was the only thought in the heroine’s mind.  Romana had been a stalwart companion of Abaigeal’s mother since the two were children.  When Keeley died Romana took it upon herself to raise and protect Abaigeal.  She had married Liam out of love but never had children of her own.  Abaigeal was the entire world to Romana and now she was being threatened.

            Romana grimaced with determination.  Gripping her great sword firmly with both hands she pushed Aeryk’s blades aside ending the saber lock and began a series of fierce attacks meant to drive her opponent on his heels.  What blows Aeryk didn’t block he easily evaded.  J’nar’s Master Mercenary possessed not only raw strength but also an agility that defied his solid form.  Lord Aeryk ducked a wild swing from the heroine and slashed across her chest with his left sword.

            Romana missed being cut in half by mere inches.  In her emotional state she was making mistakes.  But Romana did not care; in her mind she was the last defense between this monster and her adopted daughter.  She could not escape even if she wanted and her opponent was proving the better swordsman in a one-on-one fight.  When Romana found herself backing up to the stairs she knew her time was almost up – until she heard footsteps.

            Sprinting up the stairs, Liam leapt over his wife brandishing his own twin short swords.  The ranger sailed over the intruder who evaded the thrust of one sword and parried that of the other.  When Liam landed behind Aeryk, he meant to pull out his bow, but Aeryk immediately put him on the defensive.  Forced to use his melee weapons, Liam positioned himself opposite his wife and blocked the intruder from escaping.

            The combat paused.  Aeryk watched his adversaries; his swords poised to deflect an attack from either one of the two celtic fighters.  Liam watched Lord Aeryk carefully then glanced at his wife.  A broad grin crossed Romana’s face; her breathing slowed as she relaxed. 

            Liam and Romana had fought more battles side-by-side than they could remember.  At first Liam feared for his wife’s safety but her prowess in a fight had quickly taught him to put aside his chauvinism.  And many seasons of sharing the battlefield and a bed had taught them to work as a team.  Eventually the two could work an opponent as one mind.  Romana never thought about it, but their seamless coordination only made Liam love her more.

            All it took was an imperceptible change in Liam’s expression and Romana knew their strategy.  Husband and wife lunged at Lord Aeryk.

*******

            At Vindsaul Faste, Abaigeal had finally scaled the outer wall to reach the western side of the frontier keep.  She was unprepared for what she saw.  With the keep’s doors breached, the courtyard was in chaos and nearly a score of Albion fighters were charging up the stairs towards her.  Knowing she had to reach the lower courtyard in hopes of finding Katzch, Abaigeal drew her twin falcatas and joined the rest of the defenders trying to stem the flow of invaders.

            The neophyte blademistress arrived in time to intercept an attack on a healer.  The shield-wielding armsman’s sword was deflected at the last moment by Abaigeal’s left blade.  The armsman regained his composure quickly and blocked Abaigeal’s forceful downward slash with his shield.

            Abaigeal’s attacks were vicious as she hacked away at the opposing fighter’s shield, but the armsman held her at bay.  The armsman, protected by blood-splattered plate armor and the shield, had only to let the blademistress wear herself out before he could go in for an easy kill.  But Abaigeal’s training took over.  Calming herself, the young woman consciously pushed her feelings deep down.  With steady breaths Abaigeal was able to let go of her primal instincts and concentrate on the fight and her opponent.

            By the time the armsman noticed a change in the woman’s tactics it was too late.  The man called for aid while Abaigeal forced him to block her attacks from all angles.  The young blademistress’s feet danced side-to-side as her blades searched for an opening in the man’s defenses.  Finally Abaigeal found an opening and knocked the shield just low enough with her right falcata while coming in closely with her left to slash across the fighter’s helmet.

            It was not enough to cause much damage to the armsman but the hit was enough to stun him for a moment.  The man’s comrades were just coming to his side when Abaigeal thrust a blade at his neck; a thick spurt of blood stifled his cry for help.  The attack left her flank open to one of the newcomers but she quickly parried it.  When the first armsman went down the second shield-wielding fighter slammed his shield against Abaigeal’s head.

            Or he would have if her head was still there.  Abaigeal saw the attack form the corner of her eye and the third armsman coming from the opposite direction.  The third armsman was clad in the deepest red-colored plate and wielded an eight-foot polearm: a deadly pike sharpened to a point.  Abaigeal saw the fighter thrusting his weapon towards her left flank as the shield from the other fighter bore down on her from the right. 

            In her mind Abaigeal watched the fight play out and fell forward, flowing like water.  The shield missed its mark and the armsman stumbled forward.  The man fell directly into the path of the pike that meant to skewer Abaigeal. 

            Abaigeal heard the weapon bury itself in the second armsman’s head, then immediately withdraw.  Abaigeal spun around to intercept the pike and was knocked back.  The last armsman screamed angrily at her and spun the polearm over his head once to build momentum before slamming it into the ground where Abaigeal stood only a heartbeat before.  Abaigeal was nimble, but her luck could run out at any moment.

            Even with his head completely enclosed in the arcanium helmet, Abaigeal could sense the man’s intense anger.  Feeling outmatched, Abaigeal dashed for the stairs, but the armsman was keen to make her pay for the deaths of his comrades.

            Spinning backwards and sliding to the right, the armsman blocked Abaigeal’s path to the stairs with the length of his pike.  The young blademistress tried to jump over the polearm but the armsman continued to spin and Abaigeal was forced to engage.

            Face-to-face the two combatants battled.  Abaigeal wielded her twin falcatas with swift precision as she went on the offensive.  The armsman, to his credit, wielded his pike as an elegant weapon rather than the mindless weapon of a phalanx.  Abaigeal picked up on her opponent’s technique and recognized a skilled warrior.

            Each time the young blademistress tried to slip down the stairs the armsman backed off to place himself between Abaigeal and her escape.  When Abaigeal tried to go on the offensive the armsman waited out the attacks with a series of blocking maneuvers.  But Abaigeal was too quick for the heavily-armored fighter’s slow attacks.  It was a stalemate, until Abaigeal recognized a weakness.

            With a feint to the left Abaigeal led the armsman to believe she was going to try for the stairs again.  The armsman countered with the expected thrust, but Abaigeal spun around and placed herself directly in an opening on the man’s right.  Too late did he realize his mistake and the armsman was forced to parry the oncoming attacks with his back to the wall.  Abaigeal’s battle honor did not allow her to pass up the chance and she drove the man backwards with a flurry of attacks.

            The armsman panted as he blocked blow after blow until desperation forced a hard swing at his attacker.  Abaigeal ducked and twisted with the blow bringing her feet up and over to connect solidly with the armsman’s helmet which flew off revealing the true identity of the invader.  Abaigeal’s shock at the woman looking back at her caused her to hesitate and lose the advantage.

            The armswoman was young, perhaps only twenty-five summers.  Her shoulder-length blonde hair framed a rounded face that was unblemished save for a single scar down her right temple.  But the one feature of the woman’s face that gave Abaigeal a frightening start was the unbridled rage directed towards her.

            Kaylannah had grown up in a small highland village far from Camelot.  From an early age she longed to leave her home and began to despise the members of the small clan.  When she was barely a woman she ran away from home, dyed her hair to hide her highland heritage, and made her way to Camelot to join the Defenders Guild. 

            Kaylannah trained hard.  Her fellow fighters called her a man in a woman’s skin; there were many scuffles.  The man who gave her the only scar she bore was found dead in a creek the next day.  The young woman rose through the ranks to become captain and command a dozen men for this campaign against Midgard.  And she would be _damned_ if she was going to let this savage get the better of her.

*******

            On the north platform above the courtyard of Svasud Faste another battle for Abaigeal’s future was playing out.  The adoptive parents of the half-celt girl fought in unison to defeat the most feared champion of Albion.  The battle was two against one but it still appeared to be a stalemate.

            Lord Aeryk worked both swords furiously to keep his opponents at bay.  Romana pushed him towards her husband’s dual blades with a fierce overhead swing of her great sword.  Aeryk skipped to the side to avoid the blow and met Liam’s blades with his own.  Before Romana could step in for the kill, the dark lord had batted Liam’s blades aside and returned to block the heroine’s next attack.

            Back and forth Lord Aeryk fought.  Trying to maintain a fight on two fronts would have left most masters of the art of wielding two blades searching for a quick escape.  Few who faced two foes lived long, and those that did managed to do so by establishing a hasty retreat.  But Aeryk was no ordinary mercenary.  His skill with the blades had been honed over many seasons and augmented by dark magic; Lord Aeryk rarely left an opponent alive.

            And Liam was beginning to realize that he was out of his element.  The ranger was more comfortable with his bow, preferring to reserve his short swords for finishing off a wounded enemy.  Liam could only keep J’nar’s champion from escaping; skills with his swords were proving inadequate for defeating such a foe.  Without Romana keeping Lord Aeryk at bay, Liam knew he would never have survived this long.

            Lord Aeryk had finally had enough of the two celts and initiated a flurry of attacks against Romana that pushed her back on her heels.  Before Liam could close the gap and come to her aid, Romana tried to dispatch Lord Aeryk with hard thrust to his head.  Aeryk foresaw the move and pushed her sword down with his own throwing Romana off balance.  At the same time Aeryk met Liam’s charge with a solid kick to his chest.

            Liam fell hard and slid back several yards.  Before Romana could recover, Aeryk fell upon her with the full fury of his twin blades.  Romana yelped and went on the defensive.  Aeryk’s attacks came too fast for her to do anything but block.  The dark lord pushed Romana towards the parapet wall overlooking the courtyard fifty feet below.  The gaps between the merlons were shallow and afforded little safety if a person were to step too close.  Romana glanced back briefly and realized her dire circumstances:  Aeryk meant to kill her either by sword or by fall.

            Romana tried to slip to the side, but Aeryk pressed the attack and she was trapped at the edge of the walkway.  Panic set in and Romana’s defense faltered.  Aeryk’s attacks became more powerful and the clash of his swords was now heard throughout the keep.  Those in the courtyard below who heard the sounds of battle could only watch in horror.

            Behind Lord Aeryk, Liam caught his breath and stood up in time to see Romana’s sword batted out of her hands, leaving her completely defenseless on the edge of the wall.  He had no other choice; his weapons had tumbled too far away to reach in time.  Liam hoped his knowledge of Svasud Faste’s courtyard was accurate and sprinted for his wife.  It was the one tactic Aeryk could not foresee.

            As the dark lord swung his right blade at Romana’s head, Liam dived under the blow catching his wife in the midsection.  Romana’s head was pulled out of the way with not a breath to spare and the she watched as Aeryk’s blade clipped a lock of her hair. 

            Aeryk watched Liam and Romana sail over the ledge to the ground below.  Liam glanced back at the man with a fierce look in his eyes before he and Romana landed with a soft thud in thick pile of snow-covered straw.  Husband and wife suffered only minor bruises and were quickly assisted by the remaining defenders as the keep’s alarm was raised.

            Overhead Aeryk watched with mild disappointment.  Realizing his quarry was not here, the dark lord exited Svasud Faste the same way he entered – easily dispatching the few defenders that tried to bar his way.  If not here then there was only one place left to look for the girl.

*******

            The young woman at the center of the conflict was finding the battle at Vindsaul Faste equally daunting.  Kaylannah shouted in rage as she thrust her polearm at Abaigeal’s head.  The young blademistress ducked just in time as the sharp point of the pike embedded itself in the stone just inches above her.  Still in shock, Abaigeal rolled to the side and brought up both blades to block the back-hand swing of the highlander armswoman’s weapon.  The powerful attack knocked Abaigeal back against the stone and further from the stairs.

            Abaigeal desperately surveyed the area for an escape.  The armswoman blocked Abaigeal’s only access to the courtyard below; Abaigeal was outmatched by the long reach of the plated warrior’s weapon.  The blademistress dodged another round of attacks while she tried to focus.  It was not easy.  Abaigeal felt conflicted about harming the woman but she was being left with little choice.

            With no fighters coming to the aid of either of them, Abaigeal focused on her opponent.  In Abaigeal’s mind the world slowed and she watched the armswoman’s attacks unfold.  The female warrior’s movements were well-practiced and disciplined, but Abaigeal sensed something deep within the woman; her anger was her weakness.

            Kaylannah was indeed a skilled fighter and learned to curb her emotions for the good of her company, but deep in her heart she was always trying to prove herself.  No slight went unanswered once she joined the Defender’s Guild and this trait was about to get her in trouble.

            Abaigeal deflected another blow from the polearm and engaged in a series of strikes of her own to put the armswoman on the defensive.  Kaylannah was not unfamiliar with defending herself but the blademistress’s next move caught her completely off guard.

            With the incoming attack safely parried by her left, the heavy falcata in Abaigeal’s right hand came down hard.  Kaylannah rushed to block with the center of her polearm only to have it shattered in two.  The sturdy falcata continued its trajectory and nicked the woman’s chest plate leaving a shiny gash.

            Kaylannah dropped the half of her weapon with the bladed end and was forced back towards the stairs.  Abaigeal immediately sprang into action with a flurry of blows.  The armswoman used the duskwood pole – the remaining half of her weapon – as a staff to fend off the blows.  Abaigeal tried to disarm her opponent with each attack but Kaylannah was well disciplined; even without her weapon of choice she was able to improvise and defend herself.  However Abaigeal’s attacks were slowly pushing the woman back and down the stairs to the courtyard.

            Abaigeal recognized the calm determination that had taken over the armswoman but she was confident that the fight was about to end in her favor.  Sheathing her left falcata Abaigeal took a hard swing with her remaining blade and almost knocked the armswoman’s weapon from her hand.  Kaylannah managed to hold on to her only defense but she stumbled back slightly.  Abaigeal saw her chance.

            Sheathing her other sword, Abaigeal grabbed the pole with both hands and leapt onto her opponent pinning her to the wooden floor of the landing.  The two women struggled with the armswoman’s head hanging over the edge.

            “Yield!” Abaigeal screamed, but the armswoman either did not understand her or stubbornly refuse to acknowledge her defeat.

            However Kaylannah did understand the meaning even if she did not understand the language.  Kaylannah pushed back harder against Abaigeal’s weight and was about to spit in her face in defiance until both combatants heard a chant that made their blood run cold.

            In the courtyard below, amongst the hordes of fighters, the last remaining member of the Albion _eahta-kin_ looked up.  The wizard had fought hard and had suffered a grievous wound as half his face had been nearly burned off.  He was about to retreat to safer grounds when he looked up and remembered his leader’s secondary orders.

            “Two birds with one stone,” he chuckled to himself before a coughing fit cut him off.  Weaving his hands in the air before him, the wizard began the spell.  The chant was but a whisper to those nearby but to anyone within the line of his spell, the ancient cantrips were clear as day.

            Abaigeal had heard those words before and Kaylannah needed only see the mad look in the wizard’s eyes to know he cared nothing of the safety of his countrymen.  The two women looked each other in the eye for only a heartbeat and came to an immediate understanding.  Knowing that they would both be incinerated if they did not move quickly, Abaigeal and Kaylannah sprang into action.  They would need tremendous luck.

            The wizard uttered his final syllable and released the firebolt.  Again Abaigeal’s world slowed.  Kaylannah kicked her legs up propelling Abaigeal in a forward flip.  Abaigeal pushed back and launched herself over the edge of the landing.  With both women holding onto the duskwood pole, Kaylannah rolled backwards using Abaigeal’s momentum to carry her and her heavy plate armor over the edge.

            Their cooperation paid off as the red-hot ball of fire passed inches from the women and obliterated the stairs above them in a shower of scorched wood and molten stone.  However there was still the matter of landing.  In their desperation the women underestimated the distance to the ground.  Luckily there was a cushion of snow, but Abaigeal landed hard knocking the wind out of her.

            Kaylannah was used to hard hits in battle and easily shrugged off the landing.  Getting up, the armswoman contemplated finishing off the blademistress, but then she remembered the treacherous wizard.  Looking up she found him preparing a second spell.  Kaylannah charged.

            With a small sword she kept on her belt, Kaylannah ran the wizard through puncturing one of his lungs.  The man clutched at the blonde armswoman and gasped.  A gurgle of blood answered Kaylannah’s grimace and she gave the blade an extra push.  The wizard closed his eyes and collapsed dead before his compatriot.

            Kaylannah wiped her blade and huffed at the dead man before turning back to where the young blademistress was slowly recovering.  Captain Kaylannah paused for a moment then sheathed her sword.

            “Good luck, girl,” she scoffed as she marched off towards the exit in search of her commander.

*******

            In the Vindsaul Faste vault, the prospects were looking grim for the three defenders.  The supposedly sturdy doors were giving way.  Katzch, the troll, and the firbolg were the only ones to make it to the vault before it had been sealed off.  The trio had tried to reinforce the doors, but they would last only so long before the invaders breached them.  With hope fading, the three defenders backed away and prepared for a fight. 

            Finally the doors began to crack.  When a large part of one door splintered leaving a gap, the firbolg launched an arrow through the narrow opening and into the face of one of the attackers.  The man screamed and was pulled out of the way.  The ramming from outside paused for a moment and Katzch thought that they had repelled the attackers.  That hope was quickly shattered along with the rest of the doors.

            From behind the shower of splinters, a heavily plated armsman charged into the vault.  The troll in front of Katzch roared and slapped the man to the ground with a resounding clang.  But there were many more well-armed fighters behind the now dead armsman.  Both the troll and the firbolg were cut down quickly after taking only two more of the invaders with them into the afterlife.  All eyes turned to the diminutive valkyn.

            Another heavily-plated armsman – a giant of a man – rushed at Katzch and tried to cleave her in two with his great, two-handed sword, but the nimble valkyn was too quick.  Ducking at the last minute Katzch swung her right greave into the man’s side.  The armsman stumbled back in surprise and was about to swing again when he felt a trickle of blood down his leg.

            Strapped securely to her forearm, Katzch’s greaves were covered in sharp spikes, a few of which had managed to slip through a gap in the man’s armor.  The huge warrior barked a furious command at his lackeys behind him and the entire group of invaders descended upon the lone valkyn girl.

            Katzch’s throat produced an inhuman growl and she dived into the fray.  With both gauntlets covered in spikes, the young valkyn flew into a rage.  Each swing of an invader’s weapon missed its mark and left Katzch an opening.  She was small enough to duck each blow and slip between most attackers’ legs.  Many of her ripostes were repelled by the heavy plate, but the hits were beginning to accumulate.

            Six stalwart Albion men fought frantically to kill the valkyn.  One man swung his great hammer too high and brained one of his companions to death.  Of the remaining five Katzch concentrated on the most wounded.  The highlander did not know it, but the fiery look in the valkyn’s eyes indicated her complete devotion to her god, Kelgor.  His last breath would come soon.

            The highlander was still clad from head to toe in plate armor, but it was stained red with his own blood from a dozen punctures from the valkyn’s spiked gloves.  The man backed up putting himself against the corner of the relic vault.  The leader of the invading party who had been tasked with clearing the room and retrieving the relics shouted at the man, but it was too late.

            Katzch made a final lunge at the wounded warrior.  The man’s loss of blood slowed him down considerably and made defense difficult.  His sword missed the valkyn who spun around with her right fist leading.  The spiked claw latched onto the man’s chest plate.  With impossible force for such a tiny creature, Katzch’s spin continued and ripped the piece of armor to the side. 

            With his gut exposed Katzch thrust her left glove into the armsman’s torso puncturing his lung in several places.  The man’s cries were quickly silenced and his attacker turned around to grin at his stunned companions.  The leader held his men back for a moment knowing their attacks would have to be more coordinated if they were to rid themselves of this animal.  He was unsure that would be enough.

            “Feck it!  Get help!” he ordered one of his men who willingly left.

            Katzch grinned.  Holding up five fingers on her left hand, Katzch ticked off two with her right.  Indicating the current score, the little valkyn roared.  The call sounded almost like a kitten, but the Albion soldiers now knew to take the threat seriously.

            “Shields!” the leader called.  The three remaining men barely had enough time to draw their defense before Katzch charged at them.

            The valkyn moved like a wild animal.  The invaders were completely on the defensive but were able to hold their ground.  Katzch’s technique appeared to have no strategy, but there was method underneath the seemingly random thrashing.

            Soon the savage separated one of the men.  Katzch knew he was the weakest of the three and had chosen him to be the next victim.  She tried to push away his shield but she underestimated his skill and desire to live.

            Blow after blow of her spiked gloves were met with the man’s sturdy shield.  When one of his companions tried to come to his aid, Katzch ducked or rolled with his attack into a new position.  But she was always on her target and the armsman was beginning to tire.

            The armsman was an experienced soldier but he had never fought a valkyn before in such close quarters.  He was always used to having an entire company of mages and healers to keep him and his comrades alive.  The relatively small vault with its support beams scattered throughout was proving to be a deathtrap for the men.  With each blow that he blocked the armsman grew wearier and more certain of his fate.  Katzch sensed her chance to tick off another Albion invader.

            With a burst of energy the young valkyn punched the weakened edge of the armsman’s shield.  Normally made of some of the sturdiest wood, the left half of the shield splintered leaving an opening for the lone defender.  One of the man’s companions tried to intercept the valkyn but Katzch slipped past and slashed the man’s throat.

            Satisfied that the hit was enough for at least a slow death, Katzch backed off to admire her handiwork.  However she furrowed her brow in confusion as the gush of blood slowed to a trickle and then the wound on the man’s neck closed completely.  Confusion turned to anger and Katzch spun around.  The cleric standing at the remains of the vault door gasped.

            She was a young woman; inexperienced in the ways of battle.  The cleric had been tending to the wounded just outside broken doors of Vindsaul Faste when the armsman had pulled her into the fray.  She was used to helping her people in any way she could, but in a fight a seasoned healer would have known to wait before giving away their identity to the enemy.  The young cleric had just finished her healing spell on the wounded man when her eyes met those of the valkyn and she knew she was in dire straits.

            “Protect the cleric!” the lead armsman yelled.  Katzch snarled and bolted towards the woman only to be intercepted by the shield of one of the invaders.  The valkyn propelled herself off the shield and out of the reach of another man’s sword.  Before the armsmen could react again, Katzch ascended a post and disappeared into the rafters.

            The invaders below could hear the unnerving scuttling but darkness cloaked the valkyn’s movements.  For a moment all was quiet – save for the heavy breathing of the exhausted fighters – until Katzch suddenly dropped from the shadows and pounced onto the cleric.  The unfortunate woman barely had time to take a breath before the valkyn girl ripped open the chain tunic and sank her teeth into the cleric’s shoulder.

            The sheer pitch and volume of the scream that emanated from the neophyte cleric’s throat was enough to wake the dead.

            “Get it off!”  The cleric’s words were nearly unintelligible but the armsmen surrounding her and her attacker needed no instructions.  But how do you stab a wild animal that is attached to your friend without stabbing your friend in the process?  The cleric was not making it any easier.

            The young woman flailed about in a frenzy as the armsmen tried in vain to knock the valkyn off her back.  Katzch’s sharp teeth began to tear open the cleric’s shoulder.  The cleric – now in hysterics – slammed into a wooden column and her attacker bit down harder eliciting a desperate wail.  It was at this moment that Lord Cresil entered the vault.

            “Bloody hell!”  The commander of the Albion forces grabbed the nearest relic – a hammer – off the wall and swung.  The massive weapon clipped Katzch’s leg shattering it.  Katzch released her prey and screamed as she fell to the floor.  While the armsmen assisted the wounded cleric, Cresil looked around.

            “What the hell is going on here?” he asked no one in particular.

            “Sir?  My apologies,” one of the soldiers panted.  “She gave us a lot of trouble.”

            “Quiet!” Cresil ordered.  The Master Infiltrator looked around the room at the massive collection of weapons and armor.  “This… isn’t supposed to be here,” he muttered.

            “Sir?” one of his men asked.  Cresil waved him off and considered the situation cautiously for many breaths.

            “Grab everything,” Cresil ordered indicating the relics.  “Order the withdrawal.”

            “But I don’t understand,” the armsman tried to protest but was cut off.

            “This was supposed to be just a diversion,” Cresil began, “and we appear to have what we came for.”  With that Cresil glanced at the wounded valkyn that was whimpering in the corner.  Approaching, he studied her for a moment then grabbed one of his men away from collecting the relics.

            “Bring the valkyn with us.”  Katzch understood little of the Albion language but she knew this saracen was in charge, and that he was referring to her.

*******

            Outside the vault, the order to withdraw spread quickly through the Albion ranks.  Most of the invaders heeded the order, however many angrily resisted.  Those that tried to remain found themselves with little backup.

            In their wake the Albion forces had left scores of dead defenders in addition to their own.  The Midgard commander of Vindsaul Faste was hesitant to pursue the fleeing army – preferring to secure the keep and see to his own dead and wounded.  However when he saw what the Albion forces were taking with them, the battle took on a new urgency.

            “Their taking the relics!” the commander shouted.  Rayne heard the call and looked to the frontier exit.  Sure enough, at the far side of the keep, the elf witnessed a dozen Albion men carting off the majority of the trove which he had helped to secure several months ago.  But there was more.  Rayne’s keen eyes also noticed the limp form of a valkyn carried over the shoulder of one of the fleeing armsmen.  He immediately recognized it as Abaigeal’s friend, Katzch.  Rayne rushed to the commander.

            “Open the rear gate!”

            “What?”  Haudgrek recognized the elf that had played a large role in the battle, but was still surprised Rayne had survived.

            “Open it!  The relics were their goal all along; there is no danger to Midgard.  Open the gate and gather reinforcements to pursue!”  With that Rayne ran towards the frontier exit to the astonishment of the men and women around him.  Haudgrek stared for a moment before he came to his senses.

            “You heard the elf:  open to gate!”

*******

            The commotion that followed roused Abaigeal from her stupor.  Still stunned from the fall, the half-celt blademistress stumbled as she pulled herself from the snow drift.  Taking a tentative step forward the young woman lost her balance, but was caught by someone before she hit the snow.  Looking up Abaigeal saw Skahan holding her arm and looking most distressed. 

            “Sk-Skahan…what’s going on?” Abaigeal stammered shaking off the fall.  Skahan had only just come through the gate, but she had heard enough of what was happening.

            “Abbie,” the troll was nearly in tears, “they’ve taken Katzch!”

            “What?  Where!”  Abaigeal looked to where Skahan pointed and saw the shattered frontier door and the retreating Albion forces.  On either side of the gate, two Albion soldiers hacked at the cabers propping the portcullis open.

            “No!” Abaigeal yelled when she realized the soldiers were about to cut off the defender’s means of pursuit – and Abaigeal’s ability to rescue Katzch.

            “Abbie, no!”  Skahan tried to grab her friend but she was too late:  Abaigeal sprinted for the gate.  The retreating invaders at the entrance worked frantically.  Two burly highlanders swung mighty two-handed hammers at the posts.  Soon one caber began to crack and crumbled.  The weight of the portcullis was enough to crush the second caber and the vertical gate began to quickly descend.

            Abaigeal ran as fast as she could.  The thought of losing her friend was too much to bear and she was almost at the gate.  When she realized she was not going to make it under the falling portcullis, Abaigeal leaned back on her heels and skidded under the sharp spikes with inches to spare before they slammed into the ground behind her. 

            The highlanders heard the noise and saw the puff of snow, but before they realized what had happened, Abaigeal sprung up from the snow brandishing her falcatas.  Having forgone any armor in favor of movement and speed, the two men were no match for the young blademistress.

            Abaigeal raced north after the retreating army, leaving the two dead men and Skahan at the gate.  The troll skald had not been as lucky and was separated from Abaigeal; trapped on the other side of the portcullis. 

*******

            Cresil and his men arrived at the main bulk of the Albion forces a short distance north of Vindsaul Faste.  The withdrawal from Vindsaul Faste had been quick and orderly and now the heroes of Albion began staging their return home.  Surveying his remaining forces, Lord Cresil located the only officer he felt he could trust.

            “Captain!” he shouted.  Startled, Kaylannah rushed to her lord’s side.

            “Aye, my lord?”  When she saw what he and his men were carrying she looked back at her commander in astonishment.

            “Call up the minstrels,” Cresil ordered.  “Abandon the trebuchets and get these relics to Caer Benowyc as quickly as possible.”

            “Sir?”  Kaylannah understood the relics importance, but nothing her lord was doing or saying made sense to her.  “Should we not take them back to…?”

            “First I have many questions, Captain!  As you can surely guess,” Cresil interrupted angrily.

            “A-Aye, m’lord,” Kaylannah stammered.  “And the valkyn?” she said indicating Katzch who was still slung over the shoulder of one of the soldier’s.  Cresil turned to his captive and narrowed his eyes.

            “I believe it may hold answers,” he stated.  But Cresil was cut off by a scream.  The seasoned infiltrator instinctually drew his weapons and turned around in time to see Rayne leaping over a dead armsman and directly at him.

            “My lord, look out!”  Kaylannah jumped in front of Cresil with only her short sword to intercept the elf’s first strike.  Rayne parried her sword easily and slammed the pommel of his left blade across her face.  Kaylannah screamed in pain and tumbled back into a snowdrift.

            Rayne switched targets and went directly for the bulky highlander holding Katzch.  Surprised and unable to defend himself, the armsman quickly tossed the valkyn girl to the side and drew a spiked hammer.  But it was too late; Rayne gutted the man before he could raise his weapon.  However Katzch was no better off.  Landing on her broken leg, the young valkyn screamed in agony before passing out from the pain.

            Rayne had no time to pause as Cresil was immediately on him.  Using his skills of stealth, Lord Cresil had crept up behind and attempted a quick, killing blow.  But Rayne was no amateur.  Even while dispatching the highlander, Rayne sensed Cresil and swung his left blade over his shoulder to parry the infiltrator’s dagger.  Missing his initial strike and losing the element of surprise forced Cresil to rely on his own skills with twin blades.  The situation was less than ideal for the leader of the Albion forces.

            Lord Cresil was still a highly-skilled fighter despite his age and the fact that he had delegated much of the field work to younger men and women.  However he quickly realized that he was facing no ordinary foe.  _The Blademasters were supposed to be dead!_ he thought.  Cresil dodged one of the blademaster’s blades and returned the attack with a spin and slash at his left flank.  Leaping back, the blademaster’s hood fell away revealing his elfin heritage.

            “Shit!”  Cresil hesitated for a mere heartbeat and Rayne lunged at him.  If the blademaster’s speed and tenacity were not enough to convince Cresil that he was facing a _Bladesong_ , then Rayne’s race was.  Lord Cresil realized that – even with his skills – he had little hope of coming out of the fight alive.

            The battle between the elf and the saracen became intense.  Rayne focused solely on clearing the area of enemies before he could attempt to rescue Katzch.  Two remaining armsmen came to their lord’s aid and gave Cresil a moment’s respite but it was short-lived; Rayne made quick work of the first armsman, and the second man lasted only a moment longer.  However during those few moments of respite, a memory trigged in the back of Cresil’s mind.  The saracen remembered the report from the attack on Castle Excalibur.  The tales of an elf among the invaders had been quickly dismissed as pure fantasy, but now Cresil was reconsidering. 

            _Where did this elf come from, and why did he come back?_

            Rayne pressed his attacks on Cresil and the infiltrator was pushed back.  The elf’s blades continued to move quickly and Lord Cresil feared he would never get the answers he wanted.  Rayne saw the fatigue and hopelessness in his opponent’s eyes and knew the fight was almost over.  When Cresil tripped backwards, Rayne was about to strike until the spiked end of a polearm erupted from his chest.

            Cresil watched the elf slowly look down to see the weapon that had pierced his heart.  A breath later, Rayne – son of Larien and Faernaro – closed his eyes and entered the afterlife.  Rayne never had the chance to consider his actions that day.  Had he lived long enough he may have hoped that his efforts to defend Midgard, and rescue Abaigeal’s friend would have redeemed him in his lover’s eyes.

            Rayne’s lifeless body slowly slipped off the pike and fell to the snowy ground revealing Kaylannah holding the weapon.  The armswoman’s face was covered in blood from her broken nose, and her face bore the same furious look many men had already come to associate with the fierce woman.  Kaylannah panted for several moments before offering a hand to her lord; however she turned around when she realized Cresil was focused on something else behind her.

            Several paces away stood the very same girl that Kaylannah had fought on the western ramparts of Vindsaul Faste.  The girl simply stood there mouth agape – not even drawing her weapons yet.  The pause in the fight gave Kaylannah the opportunity to examine her opponent, and she noticed with great curiosity that what she assumed was a celt was wearing a curious blend of  Midgardian and Hibernian armor.  Cresil, however, recognized something else about the girl.  Pulling himself up, the commander of the Albion forces strode up beside Kaylannah.

            “You have your orders, Captain,” he commanded, gripping his weapons firmly, “Now go!”

            “But, my lord!” Kaylannah protested.

            “Go!  Take our forces and leave this one to me.”  Kaylannah hesitated for a moment before collecting her men and slinging the unconscious valkyn over the back of a horse.  Abaigeal panicked when she realized what was happening. 

            “No!”  The blademistress gave chase, but the retreating soldiers were aided by minstrels and pursuit was impossible.  Abaigeal staggered to a stop.  “Katzch!” she cried.  Every last one of the Albion invaders was gone, save for one.

            Cresil had simply watched the strange girl with his weapons at the ready.  The valkyn, the elf, and now this girl were all too much of a coincidence.  Reports of a girl and her valkyn companion attacking patrols in Uppland meant nothing at the time until a report that also claimed the presence of an elf.  It was not until the raid on Castle Excalibur and Lord Aeryk’s failure to hold the relics, that Cresil took an interest.  The Saracen began hearing whispers of strange activity among Aeryk’s allies.  When Abaigeal turned to Cresil – her face full of rage – he swore he knew her somehow.

            “Who are you?” he asked in the common tongue.  But when Abaigeal drew two magical falcatas and charged, Cresil immediately regretted dismissing his army.  _Two Blademasters_ , he thought.

            “Where are you taking her?” Abaigeal screamed.  She did not expect an answer and she did not wait for one; she had not bothered to ask in a language the Albion invader would understand, preferring to let her blades do the talking.

            Abaigeal brought her left falcata down hard and Cresil sidestepped.  Flipping his sword over in his right hand, Cresil attempted to disarm the blademistress with a cut across her arm, but Abaigeal knocked the blade aside.  Abaigeal answered the attack with a series of forceful swings that drove Cresil back.  Cresil easily avoided the attacks and soon realized that the girl was skilled but her movements lacked grace.

            Despite her victory over Kaylannah, crossing swords with a fighter of Lord Cresil’s skill was Abaigeal’s first _true_ test as a blademistress.  She was already making mistakes.  Normally calm, Abaigeal was frantic to find out where Katzch was being taken and the saracen was the only one who could tell her, but there was another reason for her disharmony:  Rayne.

            Abaigeal stole a glance of the body of her lover – the snow turning deep crimson around him.  Rayne was dead, of that she was sure.  She was still angry with him when she had watched him die.  Now Abaigeal did not know what she was supposed to feel.  He had hurt her, but their squabble seemed petty in light of the danger to her friends, her homeland, and herself.  Abaigeal buried the emotions that threatened to erupt.  She tried to focus on her adversary, but it may have been too late.

            Cresil saw Abaigeal’s weakness and used his tactics to wear her down.  The two combatants fought back and forth through the deep snow.  Abaigeal managed to keep the infiltrator on the defensive most of the time but then she felt her muscles beginning to cramp. 

            Seeing an opportunity, Cresil feinted left and lunged for an opening in Abaigeal’s side.  The blademistress saw the move but was too slow to counter it and the attack sent her left falcata flying.  Abaigeal leapt back and tried to look for the blade in the snow, but it was too late.  Cresil placed the tip of his right blade at Abaigeal’s neck.  Knowing the girl could not escape or counter any of his moves with only one blade, Cresil posed his question again.

            “Who are you, girl?”  Abaigeal simply snarled in response.  Cresil’s patience was running out and his voice rose.  “I will find out, with or without your cooperation, so I ask you again: Who…” 

            Lord Cresil never got to finish his question.  A single large arrow from seemingly nowhere lodged itself deep into his chest.  Cresil clutched at the arrow before falling over.  Abaigeal gasped and looked behind her to see a few dozen of her allies approaching far off in the distance.

            “No!” Abaigeal cried realizing her only chance at finding her friend was dying in the snow.  The celt blademistress frantically grabbed the saracen and pulled him up.  “Where are they taking her?!” she asked in the common tongue this time.  Cresil could only stare at Abaigeal as the blood filled his lungs and trickled from the corner of his mouth. 

            Despite having bore witness to – and caused – much death in his time, Cresil found the struggle for life terrifying.  He clung to Abaigeal; his eyes pleading for help before they rolled back into his head.  Cresil – the street urchin who had risen from nothing to stand at J’nar’s side – died in the snowy forests of Yggdra. 

            Abaigeal dropped Lord Cresil’s lifeless body to the snow.  She barely noticed that the arrow that had killed him was not a design of either Midgard or Hibernia.

            “Abbie!”  Abaigeal turned to see Skahan running to her aide with a few allies: a huntress with her wolf hound, as well as Cillis the Runemistress and Torryl the Eldritch.  Abaigeal retrieved her lost sword and grabbed her friend.

            “Skahan, they’ve taken Katzch!  We need to find her!”

            “How?”  Skahan was just as desperate as Abaigeal.  The female troll had been a friend to Katzch and Abaigeal for many years.  She had plucked the two friends out of danger several times – mostly Katzch – and the guilt of losing Katzch when she needed her most was almost too much to bear.

            “I can track her.”  The voice was marked by experience and confidence.  Skahan and Abaigeal turned to the blonde woman who spoke.  Wenna stepped forward.  The seasoned huntress recognized the young half-blood woman and understood the plight immediately.  Flanked by her companions – her pet wolf, Cillis and Torryl – Wenna addressed Abaigeal.  “But we must hurry; already the trail runs cold.  Skald,” she said looking to Skahan, “can you keep pace?”

            “Yes, yes, yes!”  Skahan nodded frantically.

            “Very well.” 

            Before they could leave, Abaigeal turned to look at Rayne’s body lying in the snow.  The battle was not yet over, and she did not have time to grieve.  She told herself that when she returned with her friend Katzch that she would say a proper goodbye.  She was not sure how, but she would understand her feelings later. 

            Abaigeal turned to face her friends.  They watched her silently with the knowledge that she had lost someone important.  The young blademistress closed her eyes and nodded.  With that the huntress stroked the grey fur of her large wolf hound before giving it a sign.  Skahan gave shout, and the six of them were off with the wolf in the lead.


	10. Castle Benowyc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published August 9th, 2019

* * *

**oOo⌛oOo**

* * *

            Lena finished bandaging Romana’s shoulder.  It was a minor wound, but – if left unchecked – one that could become infected and lead to serious trouble days later.  As the healer of Huginfel, Lena had seen these injuries many times before; it was the same injury almost every warrior of Midgard returned from the frontiers with.  But Romana was not of Midgard, and the days of fighting in the frontiers had ended years ago with the fall of Hibernia.

            Romana and her companion, the ranger Liam, sat in silence as the old norsewoman turned her back on them to discard the remaining cloth with which she used to bandage the young heroine.  Not a word was spoken but the air was tense.

            When Liam and the injured Romana had returned from an excursion to their homeland of Hibernia that morning, Lena was already angry with them.  She wanted nothing to do with the war against Albion, and even less to do with the Hibernian resistance.  The old norsewoman feared that her young grandniece would someday take up the fight.  It was a prospect that Lena found terrifying.  Abaigeal was not even ten winters old, yet she was already fascinated by the warriors who passed through Huginfel on their way to Vindsaul Faste, one of the two defensive keeps on the edge of the frontier.

            When Liam and Romana were about, Lena forbade any mention of their activities in front of Abaigeal.  And when the pair returned from their latest campaign – bruised, battered, and half their ranks wiped out – Lena immediately ushered poor Abaigeal and that annoying valkyn out of her house while she did her best to perform her sworn duties.

            However this time it was not their injuries that had set Lena on edge.  The old norsewoman stood looking out the window – watching the innocent girl she dearly loved – and clutched the edge of the basin of crimson-stained water.  Lena contemplated Liam and Romana’s news in silence for many moments.

            Finally Lena could no longer contain her anger and slammed her fists against the wooden table.  The crash startled Liam.  Romana looked away trying to hide her tears.  Lena turned to the couple with a glare that bore the anger born of decades of sadness and frustration.

            “She can never know, Liam.  _No one can_.”

* * *

**oOo⌛oOo**

* * *

            Castle Benowyc stood in the northernmost reaches of Albion’s old frontiers.  In the years since the defeat of Hibernia, the castle had become little more than a refuge for soldiers heading to and from the captured lands.  Attacks on Benowyc were almost nonexistent – even from Midgard – and there was little excitement for the garrison stationed there.  However, tonight – as the last light of day faded – the nearly four hundred soldiers of the campaign against Vindsaul Faste milled about impatiently within Benowyc’s walls.  When word of a rider approaching came, every soldier hoped it came with orders to return home.  Upon opening the castle gates, their disappointment quickly turned to dread.

            On a black stallion, Lord Aeryk galloped through the gates and the scores of Albion fighters gave the dark lord a wide berth.  Dismounting his horse, Aeryk headed directly for the commander’s chambers.  Word had quickly reached him regarding the death of Lord Cresil, but it was the retrieval of the relics that was of greatest interest to him.  Aeryk contemplated the new development as he searched for the current leader of the Albion forces at Benowyc.  Halfway up the central structure of the castle, Aeryk found what he was looking for – and more.

            Captain Kaylannah jumped to her feet with a frightened start when Lord Aeryk barged into the room.  The armswoman had never met J’nar’s Master Mercenary, but she was well aware of the tales of his wrath.  Kaylannah – her face still swollen and bruised – was a sorry sight.  Aeryk simply stared at her for many breaths and Kaylannah began to wonder if she was going to survive the night.

            “Whom do I have the honor of addressing?” Aeryk asked evenly, breaking the silence.  Kaylannah blanched.

            “C-Captain Kaylannah, my lord.”  The normally steady armswoman hesitantly straightened up and saluted J’nar’s champion with a fist to her chest.  Lord Aeryk ignored the salute – leaving it unreturned.  Several of Kaylannah’s lieutenants backed away from her, fearful of getting caught in the middle of whatever might happen next. 

            “I understand Lord Cresil is dead, _Commander_ , and that you have a prisoner.”   

            Kaylannah nodded slowly.  “A-Aye, my lord.”

            “Take me to her.”

*******

            Above the commander’s chambers, in the castle prison, a single prisoner lay curled on a thin bed of straw.  The cell was cold, and Katzch shivered.  She tried to move to a more comfortable position, but the shackles about her wrists and her broken leg make it difficult and incredibly painful.  The valkyn girl tried to rest but when she heard voices outside, she looked up.  The cell door opened and the armswoman in red armor and a fighter dressed all in black entered.

            Katzch snarled at the man instinctually.  She smelled evil all about him, and something else:  something strangely familiar.  When Lord Aeryk approached, Katzch recognized him as the fighter she and her friends had faced when they took the relics from Castle Excalibur.  She tried to scoot away until she was up against the wall.  Aeryk inspected her closely and Katzch shivered.  It was his scarred left eye that frightened her the most; its unnatural gaze seemed to reach deep into her soul and summon her deepest fear.

            The dark lord turned and said something to the woman in his own language.  When he turned back to Katzch she spat at him.  Aeryk watched the spittle land on his armor, paused for a moment, and then casually bore down on Katzch’s broken leg with his left boot.

            Katzch howled in pain.  When Lord Aeryk did not abate, the valkyn girl’s screams reached a crescendo that caused even Kaylannah to wince.  Finally backing off, Aeryk stepped back to beside the commander.  Katzch sobbed and prayed for a quick death.  Aeryk stared at the valkyn for a moment before leaving the cell with Kaylannah in tow.  The prisoner’s cell was relocked, and Aeryk turned to Kaylannah.

            “Commander, send our forces and the relics back to Caer Excalibur.  Then you will personally take Benowyc’s entire garrison to the other side of the western hills.  There you will wait until called for.”  Aeryk marched down the stairwell into the castle ward, and the wail of the wounded valkyn faded.  “If any attempt to rescue the valkyn is made let them enter the castle unchallenged; I will deal with them myself.”  With that Aeryk disappeared into the castle keep.  Kaylannah turned to her closest lieutenant with an expression of stark disbelief.

*******

            Clouds began to move across Northumberland obscuring the full moon and casting the land into almost complete darkness.  The path between Midgard’s last outpost and Hadrian’s Wall was clear – the bandits and creatures having been driven off by Albion’s forces years ago.  The five companions had reached the mile gate separating Albion and Midgard at dusk, and Wenna had sent Disa the wolf ahead to find the trail of the kidnapped valkyn and her abductors.

            An hour had passed, but it felt like a lifetime to Abaigeal.  When the wolf returned, the half-celt blademistress waited for the news.

            “Disa has found the valkyn,” Wenna informed the group.  Abaigeal breathed a sigh of relief.  “She has been taken to Benowyc Faste – just on the other side of the mountain; nestled in the Fairy Valley.”

            “And how the hell are we supposed to get in to rescue her?  Let alone get out?” scoffed Torryl.  Wenna narrowed her eyes at the short, male mage, and the kobold next to him answered his remark with a smack across the back of his head.

            “Shut up, Torryl.  It’s not your job to think,” Cillis informed her companion.  Torryl waved a finger menacingly at the slightly taller female kobold who simply grinned back and leaned on her staff.

            “ _You_ will not be coming with!” snapped Wenna.  “Disa, Abaigeal, Skahan and I will slip in and out of the castle without a soul knowing.  The two of you will stay here and make sure our return is clear.  Do you understand?”

            “Aye.” Torryl nodded sheepishly.

            “Good.  Do not fail us.  We will be back before dawn.”

            Torryl and Cillis watched their friends leave through the gate in the wall and then disappear into the gloom.  Cillis plopped herself next to an old tree stump and patted the ground next to her.

           “I’ve have dice, if ye have coin.”  The kobold grinned at her companion.  Torryl sighed and opened his pouch.

            “Fine, then.”

*******

            The path to Castle Benowyc was unusually clear.  Wenna suspected a trap, but could sense no presence of either man or monster save for missing valkyn.  Deciding against calling off the rescue, the three women and their wolf slipped through the main gate and into the castle’s ward.  Keeping to the shadows the four of them crept up the stairs of the keep.

            Nearing the top of the tower, Disa began to bristle.  Wenna was unable to determine why the wolf was agitated and tried to calm her.  Eventually the Disa appeared to lose track of the danger and licked her mistress’s face indicating all was clear.  Soon the rescuers reached their goal.

            In her cell Katzch sniffled.  Her leg ached, as did her heart.  Despondent, the diminutive valkyn girl curled up and tried to forget where she was.  But a rustle at her prison door caused her to jump.  Sniffing the air her keen senses picked up a smelly wolf, an equally smelly troll, and…

            “Abbie!” Katzch cried.

            “Quiet!” Abaigeal hushed from the other side of the door.  “Katzch, stand back!”

            “But I _can’t_ stand.”  Katzch’s words were cut off by the terrible din of Skahan knocking the door off its hinges.  The troll tried to keep hold of the door but it fell to the floor with a massive crash.

            “That was by no means quiet, Skahan,” Wenna chided as Abaigeal rushed through the opening to embrace her friend.

            “Abbie!” Katzch began to sob.

            “Oh Katzch!”  The two friends hugged but the joy was short-lived.  “Your leg!” Abaigeal gasped.  While Skahan removed the shackles, Wenna inspected the valkyn’s wounds.

            “The troll will have to carry her,” the huntress instructed.  “Can you manage it, Skahan?” 

            Skahan frowned.  “Blonde norse lady need to talk less!  Your job done; Skahan will get us out of here now.”  Wenna ignored Skahan’s grumbling and carefully set Katzch’s leg using several of her arrows as a splint.  With her leg temporarily set Skahan strapped the injured Katzch securely on her back.

            “Time to go!”  Wenna and her wolf led the party quickly down the steps of the central keep to the outer ward of the castle.  Abaigeal followed several steps behind Skahan and Katzch, watching for any pursuers.  As the party approached the outer gate, Abaigeal took one last look behind her and nearly missed being cut in half by the portcullis as it dropped cutting her off from the rest of the party.

            “Skahan!” Abaigeal yelled.  From the other side of the barrier Skahan desperately tried to pull the portcullis up.

            “It’s too heavy!”  Wenna joined the troll but a growl from Disa the wolf drew the norsewoman’s attention.

            “Run!” came the warning.  Skahan heard the whistle and ducked just in time to avoid three arrows as they hit the gate in quick succession. 

            Inside the castle ward Abaigeal watched as the secondary barrier – a pair of doors – magically sealed shut behind the portcullis trapping her in the Castle Benowyc outer ward.  The blademistress searched desperately for a way out until she sensed someone behind her.

            Drawing both of her falcatas, Abaigeal spun around to see a lone fighter standing across the ward in the doorway to the inner keep she and her friends had just left.  Lord Aeryk, the champion of the dictator of Albion, stood before her.  His weapons still sheathed, the dark fighter addressed the young blademistress in the Latin tongue.

            “Greetings, young one.”  The man’s voice made Abaigeal’s blood run cold, and she knew exactly who she was up against.  A low rumble of distant thunder broke the silence.

            Growing up, the young Abaigeal had heard tales of J’nar’s atrocities committed against her homeland.  And there were also stories of assassins under the evil dictator’s control who terrorized all those who might resist.  Abaigeal knew that the man from whom they had barely escaped at Castle Excalibur was just such an assassin.  No one would talk about it with her, but for days there were whispers among the exiles that the man they faced was the fiercest, cruelest of them all.  She heard a name as well:  Lord Aeryk, the Mercenary.  His origins were unknown, but his prowess with his two powerful swords was said to rival that of the greatest Blademasters.

            Abaigeal realized what was happening:  The mercenary – not satisfied with retaking the relics from their rightful owners – desired revenge on those who took them from Albion.  This fiend was responsible for the attack on her people.  The young half-celt woman wondered if her aunt and uncle were safe.  Rayne was dead and Katzch had almost been lost.  Now Skahan and Katzch were in danger, and Abaigeal felt that she was the only one who stood between them and Lord Aeryk.

            Abaigeal called upon all of her training.  With slow, deep breaths the blademistress focused on her body, her surroundings, and her adversary.  This was to be her final test.  When Lord Aeryk took a step forward Abaigeal rushed him.

            “Stop!” the mercenary commanded but when the young blademistress closed in on him, Lord Aeryk drew his right sword to intercept her first strikes.

*******

            Outside the castle, Skahan – with Katzch on her back, and Wenna and her wolf close behind – ran north alongside the outer wall trying to find another way in.  Wenna chided herself for not heeding her own instinct:  she should have known it was a trap.

            “Skahan, we have no choice, we must leave!”  Skahan did not reply.  When she heard Disa’s growl, the troll grunted and grabbed hold of Wenna, pushing her out of the path of another arrow.

            Five mounted Albion soldiers were in pursuit.  Still running, Skahan turned to face the closest soldier and shouted.  The magical energy of the skald’s cry knocked the man from his horse.  Skahan scoffed and looked at the huntress.  She did not want to leave Abaigeal, but with Katzch on her back it was impossible to fight off even a few soldiers, let alone the garrison that was closing in on them. 

            Skahan began her hymn to Bragi, the patron god of the Skalds, and the four remaining companions ran north with tremendous speed, outrunning the mounted Albion soldiers with ease. 

*******

            Inside the castle, Abaigeal – who had initially fought Lord Aeryk back into the central keep – was in serious danger.  Lord Aeryk had easily defended himself from the young woman’s initial attack with a single blade but all that changed once the two combatants moved inside.

            Abaigeal had pushed the mercenary up to the first landing when he finally drew his second blade.  The young blademistress was immediately put on the defensive; Lord Aeryk’s swords were a blur and Abaigeal fought to keep hold of her falcatas.  Forced back down the stairs, Abaigeal stole a glance behind her and saw the central keep’s door was now sealed shut.  She was trapped and the only outcome of the fight would be her victory or her death.

            The half-celt blademistress spun back to her attacker in time to parry a horizontal slash, but the mercenary’s move served its purpose and pushed Abaigeal off balance.  With poor footing on the steps, Abaigeal fell backwards onto the floor below and Aeryk lunged.  Abaigeal shrieked but the mercenary’s black longsword was blocked at the last moment, making a distinct, loud ring as it connected with something.

            Abaigeal looked up.  She was astonished to see a shimmering stiletto floating in midair and blocking Lord Aeryk’s strike.  Abaigeal was mystified at first but – when she realized what she had done – she was almost overjoyed despite the circumstances:  Abaigeal had called forth a third blade. 

            The surprised look on her opponent’s face made the moment perfect.  With more knowledge of what he was up against, Lord Aeryk backed up a step and – at the same time – Abaigeal leapt back up to her feet and entered an offensive stance.  Aeryk watched as the ethereal blade moved in unison with – and complimented – Abaigeal’s physical blades.  With a wry grin on her face, the young blademistress launched into a series of attacks that pushed her opponent back onto the stairs.

            The sound of metal upon metal rang throughout the halls of the Benowyc keep.  Lord Aeryk concentrated on parrying the girl’s three blades as he carefully backed up the stairwell.  Emboldened, Abaigeal pushed the mercenary hard.  The magical third blade did indeed work in unison with Abaigeal’s falcatas but it fought without her command; all the blademistress had to do was maintain her focus and remain calm in the heat of battle.  Abaigeal’s confidence grew.

            But this was not the first time Lord Aeryk had confronted a blademaster.  The Master Mercenary was a not only a master of the art of wielding two blades, he was also a veteran of countless battles.  He had seen every possible scenario and defeated adversaries of every nature.  And one does not subdue Hibernia without encountering more than the occasional blademaster.

            Lord Aeryk led Abaigeal to the landing overlooking the foyer where their fight had begun.  There the two combatants gained and lost ground for several moments.  Even while on the defensive from the skilled blademistress’s three blades, Aeryk did not tire.  The mercenary allowed Abaigeal to assume she was driving him into a corner, all the while he was positioning the girl right where he needed her to be.

            The second floor of the keep served as the armory and – at just the right moment – Lord Aeryk hooked Abaigeal’s right blade, knocking it to the side and forcing her back with a slash at her belly.  Abaigeal easily avoided the riposte but the mercenary took the opportunity to slip back up to the armory wall, sheathe his weapons, and grab two small axes.  The move that followed took Abaigeal completely by surprise.

            As Lord Aeryk prepared to launch the deadly missiles, Abaigeal’s world slowed and she searched for a solution.  She was in the open, vulnerable, and every possible outcome – save for one – ended in serious injury. 

            Sheathing her own swords Abaigeal watched the mercenary release the hand axes, sending them sailing end-over-end towards her.  The nimble blademistress vaulted backwards putting as much distance between her and her opponent.  On her second jump Abaigeal grabbed the balcony railing and sailed through the air and down to the foyer below.  Abaigeal had put herself out of range of the axes causing them to miss her by mere inches.  However the move had caused her to lose concentration on her third blade and the ethereal stiletto disintegrated into dust.

            Abaigeal sensed the loss of her magical blade and her advantage but she had no time to lament; the railing above her shattered into a shower of splinters and Lord Aeryk leapt over the side, his blades leading the way.  To avoid being chopped in half Abaigeal rolled to the side then sprang to her feet with her twin falcatas at the ready.

            Aeryk advanced and the two continued to spar on nearly equal ground again.  Abaigeal regained her concentration and balance and the fight weaved its way through the foyer and into a connecting hallway.  Both combatants relaxed as they entered into what almost appeared to be a dance.  Abaigeal saw respect in the eyes of her adversary, and Aeryk began testing the young blademistress with various moves. 

            When she realized what the dark fighter was doing, Abaigeal frowned.  Respect or no, this man was her enemy.  He was not an equal, and he was not worthy to test her.  She would show him what she was capable of and he would regret this night.  Abaigeal closed her eyes, relaxed, and reached out to her surroundings.  Aeryk narrowed his eyes at the girl who now fought him blind.

            Lord Aeryk pressed his attacks and pushed the young blademistress past a series of open windows.  The wind blew in through the windows in the wake of the oncoming storm.  Abaigeal felt the breeze and the light brush of the fluttering curtains.  Dancing back and forth between them, Abaigeal almost evaded her opponent who was forced to duck and sidestep the flapping cloth that he could not slice out of his way.  But Abaigeal’s gambit worked:  gaining precious seconds the young blademistress opened her eyes and turned to run.

            She did not get far before she had to reengage, but Abaigeal found what she was looking for.  Across the next room there was the secret side entrance to the inner keep.  Aeryk saw it too and knew the girl’s objective.  The mercenary pivoted and force himself between the girl and the exit, but Abaigeal was not so easily dissuaded.

            Back and forth the two continued, but Aeryk’s attacks took on a renewed urgency.  The girl could escape to the castle ward if she got close to the door.  She would still be trapped in the castle but more opportunities for escape would be available.

            Finally, Abaigeal saw her opening.  With a quick retreat to the middle of the room, Abaigeal positioned herself beside a column and forced the mercenary to follow.  Using the small support beam as a shield, the young blademistress spun around and put enough distance between her and Lord Aeryk to allow a dash for the exit.  With a solid kick the door flew open and Abaigeal backed out and into the castle ward, all the while fending off the mercenary’s blades.

            Lord Aeryk pressed his attacks and Abaigeal scanned the area for anything she could use.  When she saw siege weaponry lining the western wall, Abaigeal backed up and continued the fight along a row of small catapults.  Lord Aeryk had no inkling of the girl’s plan until it was too late.

            With nowhere else to go, Abaigeal put her plan into action.  Backing up to the bucket of one of the catapults, the young blademistress locked her blades against Lord Aeryk’s right sword.  Her plan worked. 

            Just as the mercenary used the opportunity to slash with his free blade, Abaigeal leapt into the bucket.  Aeryk’s attack missed the girl and instead cut the rope of the pre-primed catapult.  The mercenary saw the amused smirk on Abaigeal’s face just before she was launched high into the air, landing safely out of harm’s way on the highest catwalks of the castle’s north wall.

*******

            In a dense copse tucked amongst the hills north of Castle Benowyc, Skahan stopped and removed the valkyn from her back.

            “What Skahan doing?” Katzch mumbled.  Skahan gently laid the injured valkyn girl on a soft litter of leaves beneath a tree.  Wenna and her wolf approached.

            “Skahan?”  The norsewoman had a bad feeling she knew what the troll was up to.  Skahan turned to the blonde huntress.  A flash of lightning illuminated a mixture of desperation and grim determination on the troll’s face.

            “Stay with Katzch,” Skahan ordered.  “Skahan go back for Abbie.”  Wenna was about to protest, but she knew it was useless to argue with a troll.  As Skahan disappeared into the gloom, Disa the wolf curled up with her valkyn cousin, keeping the injured Katzch warm.  A light drizzle had begun and Wenna curled up next to her remaining companions and shielded them from the rain with her cloak.

            Wenna signed.  She felt useless as all she could do was comfort Katzch and pray to Skadi for Skahan’s return.

*******

            Fifty feet above the forest floor, on the rain-slicked catwalks of Castle Benowyc, Abaigeal searched for an escape.  She had evaded Lord Aeryk for now, but it was only a matter of time before he found her again.  She had to get out of the castle.  Climbing down the slippery outer wall was not an option, and she continued to search.  Seeing a small cluster of trees on the east side of the castle on which she thought she may be able to climb down, Abaigeal rushed across the rampart only to skid to a stop.  More than a dozen feet away from her goal, Abaigeal encountered a gaping hole in the castle.

            Located in the old Albion frontiers, Castle Benowyc fared better than most of the old outposts but it was still neglected.  The damage from an attack by the forces of Midgard was a dozen winters old but still had not been repaired.  The damage had not only taken out twenty feet of castle wall, but also the walkway that had been attached to it.  Abaigeal cursed under her breath and retreated the way she came.

            Left with no choice, the young blademistress –soaked from the heavy rain – cautiously approached the northwest tower of the castle.  It was enclosed and dark, but Abaigeal sensed no presence.  Hopefully, she thought, she could sneak back to the ward and escape the castle.  Her hopes were immediately dashed.

            The moment Abaigeal crossed the threshold into the tower, Lord Aeryk – who had been hiding behind the archway – swung his left sword at her head.  Abaigeal ducked with a shriek as Aeryk’s powerful strike missed and his black sword embedded itself in the stone.  The blademistress barely had time to draw her weapons when Aeryk’s second blade forced her to leap back and avoid an overhead chop.  When Aeryk emerged from the shadows Abaigeal could see the anger in his face.

            The dark lord’s onslaught became relentless.  There was no finesse to his attacks and their sheer ferocity placed Abaigeal on her heels.  The young blademistress evaded most of Aeryk’s strikes but his attacks kept Abaigeal on the defensive.  Trying to regain her position, Abaigeal parried a hard left cut from her adversary but the attack almost knocked her over.  Abaigeal clung to a merlon along the outer wall for support, trying to regain her foothold. 

            Giving no quarter, Aeryk swung his black sword down hard.  Abaigeal spun away just in time to avoid losing a hand and instead the strike lopped off a large chunk of the stone merlon.  The dark lord’s move left him open for a moment allowing Abaigeal to land a solid punch on Aeryk’s temple with the back of her studded gloved fist.

            Lord Aeryk shrugged off the hit without so much as a pause and returned the attack with a wide swipe with his right sword before advancing on the young blademistress.  With her situation becoming direr by the second, Abaigeal’s panic rose and her attacks grew desperate and careless.  She was pushed further and further towards the edge of the broken walkway by the dark lord’s attacks.  With Abaigeal’s fatigue growing and the rain-slicked rampart making it impossible for her to gain any advantage, Lord Aeryk seized upon the moment.

            With a double cross-cut attack using both blades, the dark fighter knocked the young blademistress off balance.  Abaigeal lost her footing on the wet surface and landed hard on her left knee.  With Abaigeal’s left falcata low to the ground, Aeryk slammed his foot down – pinning the blade to the landing – and swung his right sword back across Abaigeal’s face.

            The tip of the mercenary’s blade sliced a deep cut across Abaigeal’s cheek just below her left eye.  The young woman cried out and clutched the wound, both her blades tumbling away into the darkness below.  Lord Aeryk sheathed his right sword and stared at the defeated young woman before him. 

            “That ought to clip your wings.”       

            Abaigeal shivered.  Overcome with exhaustion, the young blademistress collapsed to her knees and waited.  The fading rain pelted her in the face.  She thought of her friends and family.  She felt ashamed for having failed them.  She hoped that her friends had escapes.  She hoped that her sacrifice was not in vain.

            After several deep, frightened breaths, Abaigeal realized that no killing blow was forthcoming and tentatively traced her fingertips along the cut on her cheek.  I was not as bad as she initially had thought but the wound stung as much as her defeat and the loss of her homeland’s magical blades.

            The young woman’s whimpers faded and her attention turned from the blood running down her cheek to the warrior in front of her.  Abaigeal sneered at Lord Aeryk.

            “Finish it, dog!” Abaigeal yelled.  Lord Aeryk simply stared at her for a moment before breaking the silence.

            “Do you even know who I am, Abaigeal?  Or why I brought you here?”  Aeryk’s expression remained cold.

            “I know you,” Abaigeal growled.  “You’re J’nar’s assassin!  You’re responsible for the deaths of my countrymen and my family!”

            “Is that what they tell you?”  Aeryk took a step forward and Abaigeal staggered back, clutching the wet parapet for balance.  “My god, child, how have you not discovered the truth?”  Abaigeal spat at the fighter and winced in pain.  Lord Aeryk scoffed.

            “Tell me, Abaigeal, what happened to your family?”  Abaigeal could not understand why this vile man insisted on tormenting her.

            “My mother died in when I was an infant,” Abaigeal growled.

            “And your father?”

            “He was killed by the invaders!”

            “No, Abaigeal, he wasn’t.” 

            “Lies!” Abaigeal retorted.

            “You father was not killed; he was betrayed!  He was betrayed by the very people who had welcomed him into your mother’s homeland.”  Aeryk’s words infuriated Abaigeal.

            “Never!” she screamed.  “My father was a brother to the people of Hibernia; he brought them and Midgard together against Albion.”

            “It is you who have been fed lies, Abaigeal,” Aeryk said pointing his left blade at the young woman.

            “How would you know anything about my father?”

            “Because I _am_ your father, Abaigeal!” 

            Aeryk’s words stunned the young woman like a clash of thunder.  _It cannot be true.  It’s not impossible!_ Abaigeal thought. 

            “My father was Norse!”

            “It’s the truth, child.  You are the daughter of Keeley Elil.  You wear her ring:  a ring that has been handed down from mother to daughter for generations.  The ring I gave her.”

            Abaigeal stared at the dark fighter in disbelief.  Lord Aeryk stared back, his expression softened slightly and the tip of his sword lowered.

            “Abaigeal, this exchange is pointless.  I brought you here to save you.”

            “What?”  The storm overhead had diminished to a drizzle and the sound of rain was replaced by that of the wind through the forest trees surrounding Castle Benowyc.

            “Midgard is weak and it is only a matter of time before the forces of Albion sweep through the gates.  I brought you here so I could keep you safe; to hide you.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “J’nar does not yet know of your existence.  If you come with me you will be safe.”

            “I’ll never abandon my people!”  Abaigeal backed up slowly to the broken rampart and the hole in the side of the castle wall.  The young blademistress stood at the edge and looked down.  The castle ward was beginning to fill with the returning garrison soldiers who gazed up at the two combatants on the ramparts.  Lord Aeryk held out his right hand.

            “Abaigeal, you must come with me.  It’s the only way.  I cannot do this without you; you are all that matters now.”  Abaigeal looked at the man’s outstretched hand.  Her gaze returning to Lord Aeryk’s face, Abaigeal trembled.  Looking at his one good eye, the young woman recognized something in the man’s face: a spark of familiarity.

            _No, it cannot be true!_

            Clenching her eyes shut, Abaigeal fought back the tears.  When she opened her eyes she looked over the castle wall and down into the gloom below, then back to the man claiming to be family.  Lord Aeryk again silently offered his right hand but Abaigeal shook her head and casually stepped over the side of the parapet wall.

            “No!”  Lord Aeryk grasped at her but caught nothing but air.

            Abaigeal hoped to land on something soft or at least for a quick end.  But all she could do was close her eyes and pray.  As the ground rushed up towards Abaigeal, a pair of gentle yet resilient arms caught her.  Skahan grunted and cradled Abaigeal securely for a moment before setting her down gently on the wet grass.  The young blademistress was disoriented before she realized what had happened.

            “Oh Ska!  Thank Eir!” she wept as she hugged the troll.  Skahan held her dear friend tightly before releasing her.

            “Is Abbie alright?”  Abaigeal nodded, again holding back the tears.  “Then we must go!” Skahan urged.  Again using her magical gift of speed, Skahan and Abaigeal raced north.

            As Castle Benowyc was flooded with more soldiers, Lord Aeryk watched the pair disappear into the forest.  A young man – a sorcerer – climbed the stairs and rushed to the mercenary’s aid.  When he realized who it was, the young mage tried to back away, however the dark lord – maintaining his gaze on the escaping duo – grabbed the man by his robes and pulled him back.  The sorcerer nearly wet himself as J’nar’s champion turned to him and spoke.

            “To the Midgard mile gate.  _Now_.”  Released from the mercenary’s grip, the terrified young man nodded and began the incantation to teleport himself and his master.

*******

            With pursuers not far behind, Abaigeal and Skahan raced north.  Wenna the huntress heard their approach and roused her pet and prepared their valkyn charge.  Skahan did not bother to slow down as she snatched Katzch from the ground and tossed her on her back.

            “Ow!  Dumb troll!  That hurt!”  Katzch growled at Skahan and slapped her on the head.  The troll skald ignored the protests continued with Abaigeal, Wenna, and Disa in tow.

            “Katzch!  Thank Eir!  Are you alright?” Abaigeal asked between breaths.

            “Abbie!  Abbie!  Abbie!” the valkyn girl yelled as she bounced on the Skahan’s back.

            “We’re almost home, Katzch!  Hang on tight!”

*******

            Meanwhile, atop Hadrian’s Wall, a strange glowing sphere appeared.  The magical light shimmered then grew transparent revealing two figures.  After a crackle of energy, the light was gone and Lord Aeryk and the sorcerer stood atop the wall above the gate leading to the Midgard outpost.  Aeryk took a step forward.  Knowing that he had reached the wall ahead of the escaping Midgardians, he spoke to the young sorcerer.

            “Seal the gate,” he commanded.  Swallowing hard, the mage weaved his magic.

            The dull creak of the milegate door closing caused two nearby individuals to look up from their game.  Cillis and Torryl watched as the heavy wooden door closed with a solid click, followed by the telltale shimmer of a magical ward.  Torryl stood up, mouth agape.

            “Shite!” the lurikeen cursed under his breath.

            “Weren’t you supposed to be watching the door?” Cillis asked.  Torryl spun on her.

            “Me?  That was _your_ job, ya fat blue fairy!” Torryl shot back.  Cillis simply narrowed her eyes at her companion and slammed her staff on the stump.

            The exchange went unnoticed by Lord Aeryk and the sorcerer who watched the southern forest.

*******

            Half a league south, a grey wolf broke through a cluster of bushes followed by a Skahan, Wenna, and Abaigeal.  A few moments later three mounted soldier jumped over the same bushes in high pursuit of the escaping Midgard party.  As the lead rider closed the gap, Wenna tossed the unarmed Abaigeal her short sword.  Taking up her spear the huntress skewered the lead rider in the side as he tried to overtake the fleeing friends.  Abaigeal parried a sword strike from another rider distracting him from a hand axe thrown by Skahan.  The axe hit the rider in the chest knocking him from his mount and Abaigeal descended on the man with her sword.

            “Abbie!” Katzch shouted from her troll perch.  Abaigeal tucked and rolled in time to avoid the third horse’s hooves.  The rider then aimed his mount at the troll.  Katzch screamed, but before the horse could get close, a grey blur knocked the man off his stallion.  Disa the wolf landed on the ground with the man’s neck in her jaws and proceeded to rip into his flesh.

            But there was no time for rest.  Disa’s keen ears heard the approach of more soldiers, many of them also mounted.

            “Let’s go!” yelled Wenna and the party continued north at top speed.

*******

            “She told _you_ to keep the gate open, arse-head!” Cillis hissed.  Torryl’s face was red, his ire rising.

            “And just how the hell was I supposed to that?  Shove my foot in the door?”

            “Are you braindead?  Leave a ward!”

            “ _You_ could have just as easily done so!”

            “Don’t,” Cillis poked Torryl in the chest with her staff, “shift the blame to me, ya arrogant ass!”

*******

            Above the squabbling duo, Lord Aeryk watched as Abaigeal and her party approached the wall.  Abaigeal and her friends were still far ahead of the charging cavalry and seeing their destination lifted their spirits.  However Wenna noticed the sealed gate.

            “Damn it!” the huntress cursed.  “We’re trapped!”

            “Abbie!  What’s happening?” Katzch cried.  Abaigeal also noticed that their escape had been cut off and searched desperately for a solution.  The five companions circled the clearing and searched down the wall looking for another way past, but it was no use:  there was only one way through the wall for miles, and their lead had been lost.

            Emerging from the forest at a full gallop, several mounted soldiers closed in on the group.  The lead rider took Skahan’s last hand axe to his chest.  Wenna pulled out her bow and began targeting the rest while Disa pulled one of the horses to the ground.  But despite their skills, the friends could not hold out forever.

            More soldiers emerged from the forest on foot and surrounded the group.  The reinforcements were trickling in which gave Abaigeal and her companions time to dispatch them but with the gate leading back home sealed, so was their fate.

            As the group fought valiantly, something caught Abaigeal’s attention.  Looking up, the young blademistress saw two figures on the wall above them.  One of them was unmistakably Lord Aeryk.  Abaigeal paused for a second and their eyes met.  Aeryk stared back at the young blademistress.  For a moment, Abaigeal recognized sympathy in the man’s eyes.  Then she remembered what he said at Benowyc.

            The young blademistress’s thoughts were interrupted when a soldier lunged at her.  Abaigeal turned her attention back to the fight.  _No_ , she thought.  _I will not!_   The blademistress tore into one of the soldiers before her.

*******

            At the edge of the forest, the rest of the Benowyc garrison emerged.  The commander and her soldiers stopped to observe the battle.  One of Kaylannah’s lieutenants turned to her and spoke.

            “Do you think they’ll escape, Commander?”

            “Not bloody likely,” the bruised woman stated flatly.  “Remember Lord Aeryk’s orders, lieutenant.”  The soldier nodded and signaled the rest of the garrison forward.

*******

            Lord Aeryk observed the battle silently, paying close attention to the actions of the young woman.  The group of fleeing rescuers were surrounded and trapped, but they still put up a fight.  Almost a score of Albion soldiers had fallen without so much as touching a single member of the group.  Even with the valkyn on its back, the troll was killing its fair share.  Aeryk watched the fight for a while longer then spoke to the sorcerer next to him causing the young man to jump.

            “Stun them.  Allow no harm to come to the girl.  Kill the rest.”  The sorcerer swallowed nervously, not quite sure how to protect one of the invaders from his own men – or why.  But never-the-less he began his spell.

*******

            Even with her single, borrowed sword young Abaigeal was a formidable fighter and her desperation and anger were making her more deadly than ever.  As Skahan chopped an armsman’s shield in two, Abaigeal waded in with her sword leading the way.  The Albion fighter was unable to defend himself from the dual onslaught.  With another swipe from Skahan’s two-handed axe, the man was relieved of sword and Abaigeal relieved him of his life.

            The party fought valiantly but the battle was taking its toll.  Disa the wolf had suffered several injuries that were slowing her down and her mistress, Wenna, had run out of arrows.  Switching to her spear, the huntress engaged three armsmen.  Abaigeal and Skahan joined her to even the odds.  As the young blademistress faced the fighters, she caught another glimpse of the mercenary on the wall.  Her anger boiled.

            “Damn you!” she yelled as the fight raged on.

*******

            “Wenna is going to want that door open soon, shorty,” Cillis explained.  Torryl – who had been concentrating on the gates – seethed at the kobold’s taunting.

            “I swear by your many gods, Cillis, if ye don’t shut up I’ll take this staff, turn it sideways, and…”

            “Just open the gate, bugger brain!”

            “I will if ye’d just stop botherin’ me!”  Torryl turned back to the gate and raised his staff.

            “Done yet, or do you need help?” Cillis teased the lurikeen who growled back.

            “Fine, woman, you want the gate open then here it is!”  Torryl the eldritch stood back from the closed gate, raised his staff and began chanting.  Lord Aeryk immediately heard the spell and turned to look.  At that moment Torryl unleashed a torrent of dark energy directly at the gate.  Foregoing any attempt to disarm the wards that sealed the gate, Torryl let the bolt of energy ignite the protective spell.  Lord Aeryk casually stepped to the side as the entire wall shook and the young sorcerer beside him – his spell interrupted – was knocked to the ground.

            Below the two men the gate exploded with the force of the eldritch spell and the residual energy of the ward that sealed it.  Abaigeal and her friends heard the explosion and were showered with flaming splinters of wood.  Seeing their way clear, Wenna gathered her friends.

            “Skahan!  Now!” Wenna commanded the troll skald.  Before the Albion soldiers could cut them off, Skahan began her song of travel and the companions were through the gate.  On the other side Torryl wrapped his arm around his kobold companion’s waist.  Grabbing onto Disa’s fur he hefted both himself and Cillis up onto the wolf’s back as she ran past them.

            “I’ve never been more in love with you than I am now,” Cillis whispered into Torryl’s ear as they sped away towards home.

            “I know.”

*******

            Lord Aeryk stood atop Hadrian’s Wall and watched the companions escape to the north.  The young sorcerer lying on the ground – too afraid to move or speak – could only watch in silence.  After several agonizingly tense heartbeats, Lord Aeryk turned and strolled down the staircase at the back of the wall.  The frightened sorcerer scrambled out of the way but Aeryk ignored him.

            At the edge of the trees, Commander Kaylannah watched as dark lord retrieved a riderless Albion war horse.  Mounting the brown stallion, Aeryk disappear into the forest as he rode back towards Castle Benowyc.  The blonde armswoman breathed a sigh of relief when Lord Aeryk was out of sight, thanking God for delivering her from the man’s wrath – at least for now.

*******

            Two days later – amidst the distant sounds of construction – a pair of boots crunched across the retreating snow of the Yggdra Forest.  The fresh melt from the trees glistened in the mid-morning sun and a single figure stood alone at the scene of Rayne Golradir’s final battle.  The bodies of the invaders had all been cleared away leaving a peaceful stretch of almost unblemished earth.  At the center of the clearing, Abaigeal found a unique grave marker.

            The tale of the Hibernian Elf who helped defend Vindsaul Faste from the invaders had spread quickly.  However even his prowess in the skirmish against the necromancer’s _Eahta-kin_ was surpassed by his valiant death while attempting to rescue the young valkyn, Katzch.  Rayne had become a hero of Midgard in Abaigeal’s short absence.

           Being the only elf in Midgard, and indeed the only one of his kind to be seen in all the realms for many years, the good people and races of Midgard were unsure of how to properly honor the fallen elf.  Abaigeal kneeled to touch the freshly carved stone that had been placed at the head of Rayne’s grave and traced her finger along the symbol:  the Hammer of Midgard embossed with leaves from the Hibernian tree of life.

            The burial had occurred so soon after the retreat of Albion that Abaigeal had missed the opportunity to say her farewells to her teacher…and lover.  So she stood at Rayne’s final resting place with so much she wanted to say, but unable to put her feelings into words.  Abaigeal loved and hated the elf.  In the beginning she worshipped him, but learned that he was just a man given to folly like any other man.  He had taught her so much, but she wondered if his intensions were honorable.  His faux pas infuriated her but perhaps – with a little understanding on her part and penitence on his – it could have been forgivable.  In the end Abaigeal just wished he was alive so she could hold him.

            “Goodbye.”

            It was all she could think to say before walking back to the frontier keep.

*******

            The young mixed-blood woman pulled her cowl tighter around her face as she walked back through the gates of Vindsaul Faste.  The repair of the damaged keep progressed under the watch of hundreds of soldiers.  Although the people around her had no way of knowing the details of what had transpired at Castle Benowyc, Abaigeal was certain they were staring at her.  A few of them recognized the young woman who had dared to venture deep into Albion to rescue her friend, but Abaigeal rushed through the gates.  On the Midgard side of the frontier keep, the young woman stopped and stared out in wonder at the country she called home.

            _Is this my home_? she thought.  _Do I belong here?_   Abaigeal brushed the bandage on her cheek and winced.

            The soft braying of mules drew Abaigeal from her thoughts and she trotted over to the stables where Skahan waited near a cart.  In the back of the cart – nestled in warm furs and blankets – Katzch rested.  The valkyn’s broken leg had been properly set and now she prepared for a long recovery.

            “Abbie!” the furry-faced girl cheered when she saw her friend.  Abaigeal carefully hugged her wounded friend and sniffled.  Wiping the tears from her eyes, Abaigeal kissed her friend on the cheek.

            “We’ll be taking our kitten to Aegir’s Landing,” the driver said.  “There she will heal among her own kind in safety.”  Abaigeal looked at the older valkyn male and nodded sadly.

            “Abbie come visit Katzch?” Katzch asked.  Abaigeal nodded.

            “Yes,” the young woman said before breaking down into sobs.  The two friends hugged each other tightly, both crying.

            “Thank you for saving Katzch,” Katzch whispered.  Abaigeal could only cry into her friend’s shoulder.

            Moments later Abaigeal and Skahan watched the cart carrying Katzch disappear into the hills.  Skahan wrapped a comforting arm over Abaigeal’s shoulder.

            “Will you return with Skahan, Abbie?” the troll asked. 

            Abaigeal shook her head.  “Not yet.”

            Skahan nodded and patted her friend gently.  “Skahan will return to let Lena know you are safe.”  Abaigeal could not bear to look her friend in the eye.  After a long hug, Skahan began her journey to the south on foot leaving Abaigeal alone once again.

            Turning back to the frontier keep, Abaigeal walked amongst the defenders and dwarven engineers rebuilding Vindsaul Faste.  Climbing the steps to the broken northern wall, Abaigeal stood alone and looked out over the frontier lands – towards Albion – and wondered who might be looking back.


	11. The Cleric

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published August 16th, 2019

 

            Abaigeal approached the town of Huginfel.  Dark clouds obscured the midday sun and the village was awash in a grey light that matched Abaigeal’s mood.  A warm gusty breeze blew in from the hills punctuating the town’s morbid quiet with occasional life.  Abaigeal pushed back her long hair which was being blown into her face by the wind.  As she came into view, the villagers simply stood and stared at their foundling daughter, but only her friend Skahan approached.  The troll’s face was grim, confirming Abaigeal’s suspicions.

            “Abbie,” the troll paused not knowing how to break the news, “Lady Lena...she’s ill.” Abaigeal nodded and managed a smile even though tears began to stream from her eyes.

            “Thank you, Skahan,” she managed to say after rubbing her eyes.  The troll held her in a big hug as Abaigeal tried in vain to hold back her sobs.  The young woman wiped her tears and looked up at her friend with red eyes.

            “Would Abbie like to see her now?”

            “Aye.” 

            The two made their way through the small crowd to Lena’s home – the hut that Abaigeal had share with her great aunt , and grown up in.  Skahan sent Abaigeal through the doorway with a reassuring pat on the back.  The hut was kept comfortably warm by a small hearth even though the windows were open to keep the air inside fresh.  In the loft Abaigeal found her great aunt lying in her bed.  Lena’s eyes brighten at the sight of her grandniece.

            “Oh, Abbie!  Thank Eir!”  The old woman struggled slightly to prop herself up and held out her arms.  Abaigeal was relieved to see her aunt still looking well enough.  Lena grabbed her grandniece with surprising strength and hugged her close.  “Oh, Abbie I was so worried about you when I heard.  I’m so glad you made it back safely.”  The old woman released Abaigeal and held her at arm’s length.  Lena inspected the deep cut on Abaigeal’s cheek.  “Bring me my ointment, dear.  I’ll take care of that for you.”

            “No, auntie.  It’s fine,” Abaigeal protested, her voice taking on a frustrated tone.  Seeing the hurt look in her aunt’s face, Abaigeal smiled and tried to apologize.

            “I don’t want it to leave a scar, Abbie.  You know my balms can prevent that.”  The old woman grew stern with her grandniece but her smile betrayed her happiness.  Abaigeal smiled and got up to retrieve her aunt’s healing potions. 

            “You always did try to protect me.”

            As Lena caressingly applied the thick, opaque mixture to Abaigeal’s cheek, the young woman fidgeted with her ring.  Her appearance was the farthest thing from her mind.  She wanted to confront her aunt about what Aeryk had told her.  She wanted to find out who she really was and why she had been lied to.  But Abaigeal could not bear to hurt her aunt who had been so important to her all these years; especially in her current state. 

            “Aunt Lena?”

            “Yes, dear?”  Lena continued to apply the salve to her grandniece’s skin.

            “Tell me about my ring.”  Lena’s hand slowed its ministrations.  The aged woman leaned over a bit to look at her grandniece who did not dare make eye contact.  Lena leaned back and pulled Abaigeal by the arm next to her.  The young woman sat on the bed next to her aunt as the old woman took Abaigeal’s hand in her own wrinkled hands.

            “This ring you wear has been in our family since before the spark of Jordhiem entered the minds of those who built it.”  Lena massaged Abaigeal’s hand gently; her fingers running lightly over the ring’s carvings.  “This ring has been in our family before the North Peoples united in what we now call Midgard.  The legends of its origins have been so exaggerated and changed over the years as to become unbelievable.  Some say it was forged by a dragon and taken by the one who slew it.  Others claim Odin himself gave it to one of our ancestors as a reward for their devotion.  But if you believe your great-great-great-grandfather, a woman calling herself _The Avatar_ gave it to him as a reward for his skills in her bed.”  Abaigeal chuckled despite her mood. 

            “But you’ve heard that story many times.”

            “Aye, auntie.”  Abaigeal’s smile was washed away again as she thought about her question more deeply.  Looking in her aunt’s eyes she could see just how ill the old woman was.  Abaigeal wanted to end her questions and spare the woman but Lena continued.

            “And know we not,” the old woman spoke, “when the traditions began.  It has been passed down from mother to daughter since the beginning...I can only assume.” 

            Abaigeal held up her hand and admired the silvery band.  “Incredible,” she spoke softly. 

            “Aye.  I was jealous of my older sister at first.  When she received the ring from our mother I wanted a prize for being the second daughter.”  Lena’s chuckle was interrupted by a coughing fit.  “I was so young then.  It seems like a hundred winters ago.”  The ancient healer stared off in the distance through her open window until Abaigeal’s shifting weight on her bed brought her back. 

            “Aye.  Only the first born gets the ring.  And the first born was always a girl.”  Abaigeal dwelled on her aunt’s words.

            “But I received this ring from my mother,” the young woman began, “who was Celt.”  Abaigeal turned to her aunt whose eyes displayed a hint of sadness.  “And she received it from my father...”

            “Who was a Briton.”  Lena finished.  Abaigeal’s heart sank.  Lena brought her hand to her grandniece’s cheek and stroked it softly.  “But also half Norse.” 

            “W-what happened?”  Abaigeal was at a loss.  Nothing made sense anymore.

            “I’m afraid I know only the beginning of the story.  The end I know only from what others have told me.”

            “Uncle Liam and Romana.”

            “Yes, my child.”  Lena settled in for her story.  “My sister Anora was a compassionate woman.  She wanted to use her healing skills to help those whom she felt needed it most:  the warriors of Midgard.  She wasn’t interested in the fight for control of the frontier lands, but when she saw the wounded return from the battlefield, she could not remain idle.  She saw the wounds and fatal injuries which she knew she could have healed before it was too late.  So she joined the House of Eir.  Our parents supported her even though they feared for their eldest daughter.”  The old woman’s eyes grew wet with the memory. 

            “I never forgave her, Abaigeal.  I never forgave her because she was my sister and was the whole world to me.  I never forgave her because…” Lena sniffled, “because she never came back.”  Abaigeal trembled and her aunt tugged on her sleeve.  The young woman held her aunt tightly. 

            “But then Liam brought you to me and told me that my sister had borne a loving son in Albion who in turn had fallen deeply in love with an equally loving woman in Hibernia thus giving life to my grandniece.”  Lena stroked Abaigeal’s hair as the young woman stifled her sobs.  “The rest of the story only your mother and father knew.”

            “Where is my grandmother now?” Abaigeal asked after sitting up and wiping her eyes.

            “She’s alive, Abbie.  Even though her heart ceased to beat many years ago, she is alive within you.”  Lena’s eyes brightened and her voice was almost ecstatic.  “You see, child.  When Anora bore a son, the line was not broken but merely altered.  The traditions we cling to change with life’s demands; they do not curse us because we break them.”  The old woman breathed a tremendous sigh and held Abaigeal’s face in her hands.  “If anything these changes have made our family stronger.  Just look at you.”  Lena’s voice grew weaker.  “I believe you embody the best of your entire heritage.  And now it is up to you to pass on what you have gained.” 

            Lena, daughter of Karl, smiled and gave Abaigeal’s hand one last squeeze before closing her eyes.  When Abaigeal realized they were not going to open again, she began to sob.  She knew her tears were not for her great aunt, but herself.

            Abaigeal slowly descended the steps from her great aunt’s loft and stood in the middle of the room in shock.  Looking around, Abaigeal observed the home she had grown up in.  Everything was familiar, yet now seemed foreign.  She wanted everything to go back to the way it was:  before she had grown up, before she had become a Blademaster, before she had learned the truth.  Abaigeal heaved a deep, sobbing breath and turned around.  And there she saw it.

            There atop a chest against the wall lay her old sword – her father’s sword.  Abaigeal looked around but saw no one.  Cautiously approaching, the young woman traced her finger along the light green metal that made up the short sword’s blade.  The blade itself was unremarkable other than its color.  Then Abaigeal looked at the hilt and its curious design.  Suddenly she remembered the first time she saw the blade – many seasons ago – in Lady Eileen’s hut.

            “By Eir,” Abaigeal sigh sadly.  “Why didn’t I see it before?”

*******

            Abaigeal walked out of her great aunt’s hut clutching her father’s sword to her chest.  Looking up she saw the villagers gathered outside staring at her.  She found Skahan’s face in the crowd and shook her head somberly.  Some of the villagers offered condolences but Abaigeal did not hear them as she walked away sadly.  Before she knew it she had walked to the edge of the lake north of Huginfel.  There she found a dry log and sat down to contemplate the ripples on the water’s surface, and her life as she once knew it.

            “I’ve seen that same look before,” came a voice from behind.  Abaigeal turned to see her uncle Liam looking thoughtful.  “Abbie, I am so sorry about your aunt Lena.  I share your...”  Abaigeal bolted up and charged on her uncle.

            “Why didn’t you tell me?!” she screamed.  “You told me my father was from Midgard and that he was killed protecting my mother when Albion invaded Hibernia.” 

            “Abbie, please you have to understand.”  Liam tried to calm the young woman down but Abaigeal smacked his hands away.

            “Why did you lie?!”

            Liam sighed and gave Abaigeal the same disappointed look he used to give her when she misbehaved as a child.  Abaigeal’s rage boiled.

            “We wanted to tell you, Abaigeal,” a feminine voice said.  Abaigeal turned to see Romana and her anger began to subside.  “But we had to protect you.  Because of your Norse heritage Midgard was happy to accept you,” the woman paused, “and was more accepting of us.  You may have saved us; without you we may not have found refuge in Midgard.”

            “We feared what they may do to you if they discovered your Albion blood,” Liam added.  “We had accepted your father; we didn’t know if everyone else would.” 

            Abaigeal trembled.  “But,” she paused trying to say the words, “but my father is alive...and...”

            “Abbie you have to believe us, we thought you father was dead,” Liam interrupted.  Abaigeal looked at him incredulously.  “Years ago as we formed the resistance in our homeland, we began hearing rumors of a brutal mercenary aiding the Albion overseer of the occupation.  We led an expedition to find this man, and on the battlefield we saw your father.”  Liam sighed and sat down on the rotting log.

            “I was elated to see him alive, but when I was told he was the very mercenary we sought to destroy, I refused to believe it.”  Liam looked up at his wife who clasped his hand in support.

            “When he attacked us we could no longer ignore the truth,” Romana finished.  Abaigeal nearly collapsed on the log.  Romana sat down beside her and hugged her tightly. 

            “I tried to stop you, Abbie,” Liam said as sat and held his adopted daughter opposite Romana.  “I _wanted_ to stop you, but you ran off too quickly.  Our only hope was that Rayne could protect you.”

            “Rayne’s dead,” Abaigeal stated flatly.  Romana looked up at Liam.  “He was trying to save Katzch.”

            Liam squeezed Abaigeal.  “Aye.  We heard.”

            “He died a hero, Abaigeal,” Romana added.  Abaigeal sniffled as the tears began to flow again.  The young mixed-blood woman wondered if her adoptive parents would have held Rayne in such high regards if they had known what she and the elf had done. 

            “Oh, Abaigeal, were’ so sorry,” Romana said, clutching her adopted daughter.

            Abaigeal stared at the ground holding her head for many moments before taking a deep, quivering breath.  It was over.  That part of her life was over now.  Rayne was gone and she had a much more pressing problem.  Abaigeal looked up at Liam and Romana.

            “My father...what do we do?”  When she received no reply, Abaigeal grew worried.  Liam’s eyes betrayed his thoughts.  “You think he’s betrayed us, don’t you?”

            “Abbie, there can be no other explanation.” 

            Abaigeal was stunned.  “I don’t believe it!”  Abaigeal stood up quickly knocking Romana’s grasp aside.  “No!  I refuse to believe that the man who fell in love with my mother – the man whose love you described to me all these years – would do such a thing.”  She paused, waiting for a response.  “Unless that, too, was a lie.”  Liam frowned.

            “No, Abaigeal,” Romana interjected.  “That was no lie.”  The blonde celt looked to her husband.  “Perhaps there is another explanation, Liam.”

*******

            Rest came fitfully to Abaigeal that night.  The young woman’s thoughts were filled with the memory of Aeryk’s words at the castle as well as the revelation that what he had told her was the truth.  His offer of amnesty almost sickened her at the time, but Abaigeal was beginning to wonder if something of the man she had been lead to believe was her father still remained inside that dark mercenary.  Abaigeal did not know it but all her questions would soon be answered.

            Under the cloak of night a slim figure dropped gracefully from a tree on the outskirts of Huginfel.  The figure disappeared quickly behind Abaigeal’s home as a guard walked by, oblivious to its presence.  Once the sentry had passed, a woman crept out of the shadows and the flicker from a nearby torch revealed the soft, white skin of a Briton woman. 

            The infiltrator quietly slid one of her short swords from its sheath and carefully slipped it between the shutters covering one of the windows of Abaigeal’s cottage.  As she popped the latch that held the shutters closed, the wood splintered and made a noise that alerted a nearby patrol.  The infiltrator panicked and quickly flung herself through the opening.  Once inside she closed the window again and watched as a guard and her wolf came sniffing by.  The woman quietly thanked her god – and her guild’s alchemist – when the wolf failed to pick up her scent. 

            Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, the woman pulled a tiny scroll from her pouch and turned around only to be met with the business end of a crossbow.  The lamp on the bedside table flickered brighter as Abaigeal turned up the wick with her free hand.  The infiltrator saw the young woman crouched on the bed wearing a thin white gown and aiming the bolt squarely at her head.

            “Who are you?” Abaigeal asked, her voice calm with a hint of anger.  The intruder slowly brought the note she held into the light so its recipient could see it.  In the split second that Abaigeal’s eyes focused on the note, the infiltrator unsheathed a dagger and flung it.  Abaigeal felt the air against her cheek as the blade passed inches from her face.  The young blademistress was smug in the face of the assassin’s poor aim but her mirth quickly disappeared when she realized she was not the actual target.

            The dagger hit the oil lamp which shattered and began to spread its flame across the floor.  Abaigeal discarded her weapon and grabbed the blanket from the bed.  As she doused the flames she heard another crash.  Looking up she saw her window shutters broken and the dark form of her visitor running into the woods.  On the table next to the infiltrator’s unconventional exit lay the note Abaigeal had seen in the infiltrator’s hand.  After making sure the fire was out the young woman grabbed the note and unrolled it.

 

> _Seek out Isabella, the cleric of Caer Hurbury, for answers._

            The door to Abaigeal’s cottage flew open and Skahan barged in brandishing a lamp and a large axe.

            “What happened, Abbie?” 

            “Nothing.  I mean I’m fine.”  Abaigeal quickly hid the note from view.  Skahan saw the broken window and carefully approached.  Romana followed by her husband had entered the room and ran to check to see if their adopted daughter was injured.

            “We saw someone running from here.  The guards are after him.  Are you hurt?”  Romana patted Abaigeal’s body down for injuries.

            “No I’m fine.”  Abaigeal was shaken but not by the assassination attempt as everyone believed.

*******

            Having easily evaded her pursuers, the infiltrator paused at the edge of Huginfel for a short rest and one last look at the village.  Satisfied that the young woman – and her note – had survived the fire, Katherine Lovejoy headed back towards Vindsaul Faste and the frontier.

*******

*******

            The night was unseasonably warm for early spring, and a stiff wind pounded the walls of Castle Hurbury.  Abaigeal remained hidden nearby as she watched the guards patrol the grounds around the outer wall.  The outpost was isolated and lightly defended, allowing Abaigeal to approach without detection.  Abaigeal could not shake the feeling that the lonely outpost was not used to visitors, friendly or otherwise.

            Abaigeal had left Huginfel the next day telling Romana only that she was going to visit Katzch in Aegir’s Landing.  Instead the young fighter followed the note’s instructions and traveled once again to Albion’s old frontier.  Abaigeal did not care that she left without speaking with her uncle for she was still angry with Liam.  Angry that he and her aunt had lied to her about her past, Abaigeal wondered if she would ever be able to forgive her uncle.

            For two days on foot, Abaigeal navigated the Albion frontier alone.  The first night she had met up with sympathizers in the Pennine Mountains.  The small group of displaced Tylwyth Tegs was more than eager to grant her shelter.  An older man was even willing to share his tent with the beautiful young woman, but Abaigeal refused preferring the safer sleeping accommodations with a Teg Huntress who seems to be at odds with the hopeful suitor.  During the night Abaigeal was allowed to rest in peace; the older woman recognizing the young fighter’s determination and need for a good night’s rest.

            Following the directions she had been given, Abaigeal arrived in Snowdonia in time to witness an incredible sunset.  The young half-celt woman was unprepared for the beauty of the land.  Gentle rolling hills gave way to tall, grass-covered mountains.  Not the impassable snow-capped peaks of Jamtland, but inviting green hills with gentle valleys pocketed with small groves of trees.  The setting sun cast its amber glow against tremendous puffy clouds and produced magnificent crepuscular rays across the sky.  The Tylwyth Teg woman’s description of her former home did not do it justice in Abaigeal’s eyes.

            Abaigeal found her thoughts returning to the Teg woman even as she scaled the walls of the Albion outpost under cover of darkness.  At the top she found no guards and Abaigeal entered the castle corridors through a small door to begin her search.  She did not have to look long.

            Down the first corridor Abaigeal found the resident cleric’s quarters marked by the golden grail on the door.  The door was ajar and a gold shaft of light poured from the room.  Scanning what part of the room the crack afforded, Abaigeal saw a small shrine in the corner surrounded by small, oil-burning lamps.  The room appeared to be missing its occupant until Abaigeal heard a shuffle and saw a woman walk by the table that held the shrine then disappear back out of view.  Abaigeal shifted and watched the woman.

            The cleric could have passed for much younger were it not for the hint of grey in her light-brown hair.  Her robes distinguished her as a Pontifex; one of the highest members of her order.  Abaigeal wondered why someone of such high standing was working in one of the most isolated castles in the Albion frontier.  Fearing her discovery, the young fighter backed away from the door as the cleric turned around.  For a second Abaigeal thought the woman had seen her; the cleric’s eyes seemed to lock onto those of Abaigeal’s as she turned back to her shrine. 

            _This must be her.  She’s the only cleric,_ Abaigeal thought.

            The Briton cleric was on the other side of the room with her back to the door when she heard it shut.  Hiding her fear the woman slowly looked up from her shrine and turned around.  Before her stood a figure almost the same height as herself and wrapped in a grey cloak.  The seasoned cleric set her jaw firmly.

            “Has J’nar finally grown tired of my existence?” the woman asked in her native language.  Abaigeal was startled by the lilting smoothness in her voice.  The young woman was about to speak when the cleric’s patience ended.  “Very well.  But know that I will not go down without a fight!”  The cleric reached for the golden war hammer by the shrine in the blink of an eye and held it up, ready to smash the intruder’s head in.  But Abaigeal silenced her before she charged.

            “Wait!  I come in peace!” she called out in the common tongue holding up her hands.  The cleric froze as her intruder pulled back her hood and opened her cloak to reveal her curious hybrid armor.  The briton woman lowered her hammer and furrowed her brow.

            “Who _are_ you?” she asked with genuine curiosity.  Abaigeal wanted to approach but her apprehension forced her to remain at the door.

            “My name is Abaigeal.  I came here to find out about father.” 

            The cleric stared at the young woman as she digested her words.  Comprehension suddenly dawned on her.  “So it’s true,” she said breathlessly.  “Eirik’s daughter lives!” 

            Abaigeal was assaulted by a wide range of emotions. The young fighter bit her lip to keep it from trembling as she tried to think of something to say. The cleric’s piercing green eyes impeded her efforts as they wandered up and down Abaigeal’s form. Abaigeal studied the woman closely. The light dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks bestowed the cleric with the appearance of youthful exuberance despite the hint of grey in her hair. Abaigeal could not understand the juxtaposition of someone such as her found so far from civilization. The older woman was equally intrigued by their encounter.

            “You are Isabella?” Abaigeal asked.  The cleric nodded.  “Wh-what happened to my father?” Abaigeal finally managed to stammer out.  Isabella snapped back to attention before casting her gaze to the floor.  Abaigeal could see great sadness in the cleric’s otherwise beautiful green eyes.  Isabella cautiously approached her visitor and motioned for her to sit.  Abaigeal simply stared, waiting for an answer.  The cleric sighed and sat down by herself.

            “The man who was your father is no more, Abaigeal.”

            “What do you mean?”  Abaigeal was becoming frustrated with the riddles.

            “Something happened to him when he lost you and your mother:  your father lost everything that was dear to him including his sense of worth and purpose.  That is why he serves J’nar.”  Abaigeal finally sat down beside the cleric.

            “J’nar?  He holds an enchantment over my father?” 

            Isabella shook her head.  “Abaigeal, J’nar’s power over Eirik runs deeper than you can imagine.  I’m sorry, but there is no spell controlling your father’s mind.”  Isabella watched as Abaigeal’s face dropped.  The young woman turned away to hide her tears.

            “So he really has betrayed us.”  Anger began to replace Abaigeal’s tears, but the cleric’s hand on her shoulder quickly subdued it.

            “That’s not entirely true either.”  Abaigeal turned to the cleric with a glimmer of hope.  “You see,” Isabella continued as she got up and went to her case of tomes on the wall, “I know your father better than anyone alive.  When I met him it was obvious he was a soul in great turmoil.”  The cleric removed several books from one shelf then proceeded to remove a false back revealing a hidden compartment.  “He was passionate about justice, right and wrong, but I always feared his passion could be perverted, causing great harm to himself and those around him.”  Abaigeal saw the cleric pull a tattered and stained bound book from the compartment and replace its camouflage.  “After he lost your mother and the Hibernia which had become so dear to him, it was easy for J’nar to take over his life.”  Isabella held out the book for Abaigeal to take.

            “What is this?” the young woman asked taking the book.

            “Your mother kept a journal.  I found it when my company had reached her village,” Isabella paused, “and where I found your father.  He was gravely wounded and was taken to the Shadows Guild’s private healers.  I wanted to help your father but he refused to see me.  At first I thought it was that vile mage trying to isolate him but I eventually realized that your father was so steeped in his suffering that he wanted nothing to do with his old life.  In order to maintain your father’s new identity J’nar had most of those who knew him killed.  I think he feared the wrath of the Church so he instead banished me as far from civilization as he could.”  Isabella looked at the book in Abaigeal’s hands.  Abaigeal had been so enraptured by the cleric’s story that she forgot about the journal.

            “Can you read that, Abaigeal?”

            The young woman snapped back to reality and looked at the book.  “What?  Oh, yes.  My uncle taught me.”

            “Your uncle…Liam?” the cleric queried.

            “How did you know?”

             “I tried to translate as much as I could.  Your ‘uncle’ was your father’s best friend during his time in Hibernia.”  Abaigeal digested the words for a moment then turned to a well-worn page and brought the book close to the light of the cleric’s shrine by which to read.

 

>             _We’re in Tir na Nog and it is three days before the wedding.  Eirik is getting better at his new language so I wanted to ask him more questions.  I was so afraid to ask him about his past loves but for some reason I just had to know.  Even though I do not want him to think about any woman other than myself, I feel better knowing more about my husband-to-be._
> 
> _Eirik told me that he fell in love almost too easily and many of the objects of these affections took advantage of that.  But he said there was only one woman prior to me with whom he felt close enough to consummate their relationship.  She was apparently very kind and cared about him enough to continue their friendship even after she had ended their intimacy.  Eirik could not explain to me why she had ended their love affair but, as a cleric, I assume this_ Isabella _had higher duties that required her attention._

            Abaigeal looked up at Isabella, her mouth agape.  Isabella simply nodded solemnly.

            “Aye.  Like I said:  I know your father better than anyone else.”

            “Oh,” was all Abaigeal could manage.  She felt a slight twinge of jealously that she could not explain, but any anger she felt towards Isabella was swept away by the older woman’s mournful eyes.  Isabella brought her hand to Abaigeal’s face and touched the last remnants of the scar on her cheek.  Isabella locked eyes with Abaigeal and the younger woman felt the cleric looking right into her soul.

            “You have your father’s eyes, Abaigeal,” the cleric remarked with a sad smile.  Isabella’s smile was brief before she leaned in and brushed her lips against Abaigeal’s own.  Nearly dropping the tome in her hands, Abaigeal’s heart raced as the kiss became firm and she opened her mouth in time for Isabella to release the kiss.  Abaigeal felt the cleric’s warm breath on her face as she tried to understand what had just happened. 

            Isabella offered a warm smile.  Her green eyes twinkled but still retained the sadness from so many years of grief.  “So what will you do now, Abaigeal?” 

            Snapping out of her trance, the young woman sat down and considered all that had learned.  “I have to see him again.”

            “What?”  Isabella was startled.

            “Don’t you see?  I’m the one.  I’m the one who can guide him back.”  Abaigeal clenched her eyes shut in a vain attempt to stem the tears.  “I _was_ supposed to.  By Eir, why didn’t I see it before?”  Isabella sat down next to Abaigeal and tried to sooth her tears.

            “What do you mean?  You’ve _seen_ him?” 

            “Aye.”  Abaigeal motioned to the scar on her cheek and Isabella gasped when she realized how she received it.  “He wasn’t trying to kill me; he thought he was trying to help me.  _I_ attacked him first.  He even offered me protection...if I surrendered.”

            “Those are hardly the actions of a good man, Abaigeal.”

            “My father is still the man you knew, my lady.  And if I abandon him now then he _will_ be lost to us.”

            Isabella contemplated the young woman for several breaths before nodding slowly.

            “Very well.  You must do what you feel is right, child.”  Isabella sighed and helped Abaigeal up.  “But be careful:  do not underestimate J’nar’s powers.  I don’t want to lose...” the older woman paused.  “I’d hate for anything to happen to you, or your father.”  Abaigeal nodded and clutched her mother’s diary close as she pulled her hood up.  Isabella looked to the door and smiled.

            “You came in from the roof?”  Abaigeal nodded.  “Perhaps I can find you a better exit,” the cleric said with a wink.

*******

            “Abbie, you cannot do this!”

            “He’s all that I have left, uncle.  I’m not going to let go without trying.”

            “You saw him.  You know what he has become.  How can you believe that you can change him?” 

            “Because of this.” Abaigeal said as she held out the journal.  Liam looked puzzled but Romana recognized the book immediately.

            “Abaigeal, where did you get that?” the heroine asked astonished.  Abaigeal did not answer and simply handed her mother’s diary to Romana.

            “I refuse to believe that the man my mother – and you – knew could become the monster you think he is.”  Liam looked at the book his wife was holding and frowned slightly.

            “Abbie,” Liam shook his head and relaxed his tone.  “This doesn’t change anything,” he spoke softly.  “You father...”

            “Exactly,” Abaigeal interrupted.  “He’s my father.  And this changes everything.  He was a good man once; someone just needs to show him the way back, and that someone is me.”  Liam was about to speak but held his tongue.  Instead he turned to his wife.  Romana closed the book and sighed.

            “You can’t go now, Abaigeal.”  Romana’s voice trembled slightly. 

            “Why not?”  Abaigeal was puzzled.

            “Because we need you with us.”  Liam wrapped an arm around his wife and looked at his adopted daughter.  “It’s starting.” 

            “What’s starting?” Abaigeal asked.

            “Abbie,” Romana sighed.  “Our welcome here in Midgard is wearing thin, and the time is ripe for us to take back our homeland.”  Abaigeal was filled with both apprehension and joy, but the joy did not last long.

            “You mean...” the young fighter let her words trail off.  Romana nodded.

          “Darkspire is poorly defended at the moment and the people of Hibernia are ready to strike.  J’nar’s palace...”

            “Where my father will be.”

            “Aye,” said Liam.  “Soon it will be too late.” 

            Abaigeal subdued the rage boiling deep inside her.  “Then I’d better hurry.”

            “Abbie, no.”  Liam tried to sway her, but the young fighter held up her hand and swallowed the lump in her throat.

            “Don’t try to stop me.”  Abaigeal turned around and walked away.  At the stables, as she prepared her horse, she felt a hand on her arm.  Looking up, Abaigeal saw Romana.  The heroine said nothing but instead embraced her adopted daughter.

            “Good luck, Abaigeal.”

            “You too,” Abaigeal whispered.

*******

            The evening sun disappeared behind the hills as Liam and Romana watched the last of the sun’s rays.  The ranger held his wife from behind and slowly stroked her belly.

            “Did we do the right thing, Romana.”  The woman looked down at her husband’s hands and pushed a long lock of blond hair from her eyes.

            “We can’t keep her from her destiny, Liam.” 

            “She’s so sure she can find good in him.  She’s so stubborn…like her mother,” Liam said as he sighed into his wife’s neck and kissed it lightly.  Romana closed her eyes and fought back the urge to chide her husband.

            “Perhaps she’s right.”

            “I pray, for Abaigeal’s sake, that she is.”


	12. Darkspire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published August 23rd, 2019

            Castle Darkspire:  residing upon the ruins of Tir na Nog, constructed with otherworldly black rock, and built seemingly overnight by unseen forces.  J’nar’s fortress stood in stark contrast to the surrounding countryside which remained lush and green – a poisonous spike corrupting the land.  Darkspire was neither elegant nor inviting. 

            Throughout the walled keep surrounding Darkspire, black smoke billowed from the foundries creating dark smog.  Smog that served only to reinforce the castle’s symbol as a blight on the land of the druids.  Abaigeal’s heart cried.  She watched the evening stars disappear as she passed through the keep’s main gate. 

            Her first time in her mother’s homeland had shown Abaigeal great beauty.  The hills and lakes of Breifne, the grasslands of Cruachan Gorge, and finally Connacht left the young mixed-blood woman in awe.  Near the end of her journey, Abaigeal paused to enjoy the serene beauty of the land where she was sure it had all started.  The young mixed-blood woman wondered if her father had laid eyes on the very same sights all those years ago when he arrived in her mother’s homeland for the first time.

            However – as night fell and she was escorted into J’nar’s stronghold – her tears of joy turned into those of despair.  The castle – the source of J’nar’s perversion of the land – had been a dagger thrust into the heart of Hibernia. 

            Abaigeal was glad it was going to be destroyed soon.

            Abaigeal’s captors led her straight to the foul castle and into the fore chamber of the main hall.  The inside of the hall was dark and cavernous.  It was much larger than Abaigeal could see, but only a single bluish light illuminated the chamber from above a wide staircase in the middle.  Waiting at the top of the staircase was the man Abaigeal had learned was her father. 

            Lord Aeryk descended the stairs and the commander escorting Abaigeal cautiously approached and addressed J’nar’s Master Mercenary. 

            “My Lord, this girl approached the Cruachan frontier keep asking specifically to see you.”  Commander Molukai – normally confident – cleared his throat nervously.  “She spoke to us only in the common tongue and was armed only with this.”  Lord Aeryk accepted the sheathed sword and looked at the young woman behind the commander.  Her hands were bound and she was flanked by two polearmsmen.   Abaigeal stared back with only a hint of emotion.  The young blademistress stood confidently before the imposing man.

            “Sh-She is most likely a distraction for a larger force looking to ambush stragglers near the frontier keep,” Molukai stammered.  “I believe we should search the surrounding area.”

            His expression never changing, Aeryk turned to Molukai.  “Astute as always, Commander.”  Molukai gulped.  “Conduct your search.  Try not to get lost this time.”  Aeryk dismissed the commander and his guards.  The soldiers’ footsteps faded and Abaigeal looked up at her father.  The young woman shifted uneasily and twisted her wrists in an attempt to loosen the uncomfortable bonds. 

            Aeryk’s face was completely devoid of emotion.  However the scar across his left eye and its pale grey color gave most people a chill.  Most people, that is, except for Abaigeal.  As she studied her father’s face closely for the first time, Abaigeal concluded that the scar could not obscure the man inside – not to her.  No matter how hard she tried all she could see was a man in deep pain. 

            Lord Aeryk met Abaigeal’s gaze for many heartbeats before turning his attention to her sword in his hands.  Unsheathing the short sword, Aeryk revealed Timber Walker’s Defender’s distinct green blade.

            Watching her father’s expression, Abaigeal swallowed hard and broke the silence.

           “I should have known it was the truth, father.”  The young woman’s voice was soft but still retained its force.  “It was staring at me all these years: ‘My father’s sword.’  Not of Midgard or Hibernia; an Albion sword…forged in Snowdonia…”  Aeryk looked up from the sword and eyed his daughter.  “Its owner, a Tylwyth Teg ranger lost it in battle nearly thirty winters ago to…”

            “Why have you come, Abaigeal?” Lord Aeryk interrupted, sheathing the short sword and securing the scabbard on his back.

            Abaigeal approached her father cautiously.  Standing close, the young woman locked her light-brown eyes with those of her father’s.

            “I came to take you home, father.  It is time you left this place.  Release me and we can both…”

            “I offered you sanctuary before and you refused.”

            “What did you expect me do to!?”  Abaigeal shouted back.

            “I expected you to listen to reason!”  Abaigeal shrank at Aeryk’s words.  Her father narrowed his eyes at her.  “Now you come into the heart of J’nar’s empire where all hope dies.”  Abaigeal looked away from her father and tried to hide the tears threatening to erupt.  Turning back she saw the still stoic visage of the man she had accepted as her only hope in discovering her past.

            “What happened, father?” Abaigeal asked.  “No one will tell me.  I know you and my mother were very much in love.  The people of Hibernia took you in as one of their own, as family.  You were a brother to them.  What changed?”  Aeryk’s stoic visage began to crack.  Abaigeal could see it in both eyes – even the scar across his left eye could not hide the emotion threatening to bubble to the surface.  Aeryk stared at Abaigeal for many breaths and sighed.

            “I knew the moment I saw you that you were Keeley’s child.  She was so full of passion and life.”  Abaigeal listened hopefully.  “But so much has changed, Abaigeal.  You cannot possibly understand.”  Abaigeal’s eyes filled with tears and she wiped them away.  “Do not go searching the past for answers; it will lead only to pain.” 

            Abaigeal could only watch as the emotion left her father’s eyes once again.  She wanted to cry as hope of saving her father faded from view.  But she refused to give up.  Abaigeal took a deep breath and calmed herself.  Approaching her father, she brought her hands to his face.  Aeryk felt his daughter’s touch for the first time.

            “And now I ask that _you_ listen to reason, father.  Release yourself from your suffering and come back.  _I_ need you.  Please.”

            Aeryk took his daughter’s bound hands and held them.  For several breaths Aeryk felt the warmth of Abaigeal’s skin.  Abaigeal’s hopes rose until her father heaved a sigh and released her.

“It’s too late, Abaigeal.  J’nar knows of your existence.  If I don’t take you to him then we are both dead.” 

            Abaigeal stepped back from Lord Aeryk and stared for many breaths before breaking the silence.  “It’s never too late, father.”

            “Why, Lord Aeryk.”  The raspy voice shook Abaigeal out of her trance.  “Where are your manners?”  From seemingly nowhere, a withered old man in a black robe had appeared at the top of the stairs.

*******

            Druim Ligen – formerly the last outpost separating Hibernia from the wild lands and its enemies – was quiet that evening as night spread over Cruachan Gorge.  The old frontier keep of western Hibernia had sat undisturbed for nearly a score of winters since The Fall.  Having failed in its purpose all those years ago, the new tenants of Druim Ligen had little to fear.  The nearby lands of the frontier had been tamed by the Albion occupiers just as they had subdued the land of the Celts south of the old keep.  There was nothing left to fear.

            Even Commander Molukai, leader of the Druim Ligen defense forces, did not feel the need to patrol the lands north of the keep with more than a token force that night.  It would prove disastrous for the man.  Not more than twenty men and women lay in wait among the trees and thick flora east of the keep.  The small band remained unseen until Molukai and his men walked right over them.  The battle was over before the startled birds once again found roost.

            With the only Albion patrol in the area massacred, the leader of the ambushers signaled his comrades.  Upon hearing the piercing whistle, scores of Hibernian exiles and their allies emerged from the hills and descended upon Druim Ligen.  However the Celts, Lurikeen, and Firbolg were joined only by a token force of Norse and their allies the Dwarves, Trolls and Kobolds.  The leadership in Jordheim was still quarreling over their support of the Hibernian exiles; only a handful of Midgard citizens had disobeyed orders and joined the liberation forces.

            Commander Glynis, the leader of the liberation forces, met with the small band of her Midgard allies at the center of the Druim Ligen keep.

            “My friends, I cannot thank you enough.  Thanks to your help we stand on the brink of retaking our homeland.  But I cannot ask any more of you; the risk is too great and our chances are slim.  This is our fight and I would never presume to put you – our friends – at risk.”

            Watching nearby, Cillis draped her arm over Torryl and whispered in his ear.  “Is she always this melodramatic?” 

            The lurikeen rubbed his receding hairline.  “Aye, you’d think this was important to her,” Torryl said to his companion.  Cillis grinned and kissed him on the cheek before stepping through the crowd of her fellow Midgardians.

            “Lady Glynis,” Cillis said, “I don’t think this is the time to be questioning our dedication.”  A few of the men and woman surrounding the diminutive Kobold murmured in agreement.  “Those whelps in Jordheim can debate all they want; we however know who our friends are.”  Cillis was joined by Torryl who placed his arm around her waist.  “We’ll see to it that you get back what is yours, or we’ll see you in Valhalla.”  A cheer erupted from the crowd in response to Cillis’ declaration. 

            Glynis nodded, a hint of a smile curling her lips.  “Very well then.”  Turning to her soldiers, Glynis began shouting orders and the men and women of the Hibernian liberation went to work.  At the center of Druim Ligen, Cillis and Torryl watched their allies prepare for battle.

            “Pretty words, love.  Didn’t know you had it in ya,” Torryl said.  Cillis grinned before dropping her staff and pulling Torryl in for a deep kiss.

            All around the little couple, the liberators began collecting weapons and supplies, and dismantling the siege weaponry stationed at Druim Ligen.  At the keep’s south gate, Romana and Liam helped load the supplies on horse carts.  With their task complete, Liam took a moment to survey the land they had not seen in half a lifetime.

            “Connacht.”  Liam sighed.  “I never thought we would see the day.” 

            Romana stood by her husband’s side and held his hand tightly.  “Aye, but the day is not over yet, husband.”  Liam nodded and the pair watched the last rays of the sun disappear leaving the land shrouded in darkness.  Commander Glynis followed by the rest of the forces assembled nearby.

            “Our rangers have found a clear path for us,” Glynis informed them.  “They will guide each group through the forest to Muire’s Tomb.  There we will converge under darkness and reassemble the siege engines for the assault on the Albion castle.”  There were murmurs in the crowd.  “Defend the trebuchets with your lives; we must destroy that monstrosity!  Darkspire is the seat of their power here, and the only outpost they have in our homeland.  Destroying Darkspire will rally our people; they will see there is hope for Hibernia.”  Glynis took a deep breath.  “And hope for Midgard.”

            Throughout their ranks, every soldier raised a fist in silent support for their cause.  Glynis looked on.  It was a long shot and she knew it, but the former sentinel of Connla held out hope for victory – and if not victory, then death.

            “Move out!” Glynis commanded.

            Under the shroud of darkness, the liberating army disappeared into the dense forest of northern Connacht.  But their departure did not go unnoticed.

*******

            Abaigeal was almost disappointed by her first encounter with the infamous J’nar.  The evil mage who had invaded and tyrannized her mother’s homeland appeared to be little more than a feeble old man.  The decrepit cabalist even appeared to be blind until – much to Abaigeal’s horror – J’nar moved into the light.  It was then the young blademistress saw the mage’s black eyes.  Abaigeal recoiled slightly, but manage to maintain her composure.

            Abaigeal held strong emotions towards J’nar.  Even if she had known it had been her own father who had orchestrated the attack on Vindsaul Faste – and indirectly bore the responsibility for the death of her lover and injury of her closest friend – she would still have blamed J’nar.  He was the embodiment of all that was evil in the world.

            “I don’t believe we have been formally introduced, my child.”  J’nar’s cordial tone did nothing to quell Abaigeal’s hatred.  His daughter’s attitude did not go unnoticed by Aeryk any more than it did to J’nar.  The dark fighter bowed to his master.

            Lord Aeryk motioned his daughter up the stairs and the two warriors approached the mage side-by-side as if they were equals preparing for final stand together.  However Abaigeal’s bound wrists made it clear who was the prisoner.

            “My daughter,” Aeryk introduced formally, “Abaigeal.”

            “Ah yes,” J’nar said with glee.  “You, no doubt, know who I am, my child.”  Abaigeal suppressed her own rage as J’nar turned around and walked to the center of the landing which – Abaigeal noticed – led to nowhere.  The young woman watched with increasing perplexity as the old mage stood at the center and turned to her and her father.

            “I was beginning to think you were not coming, my dear.”  With a subtle gesture from the decrepit mage the entire floor began to glow and rise.  Abaigeal began to understand the reason behind the peculiar architecture.  The platform upon which the trio stood continued to gain speed and raced to the top of the castle.

            “Imagine my surprise when I had to learn of your existence from my spies,” J’nar continued as they traveled up to the tallest tower of Castle Darkspire.  “I was beginning to think that your father was never going to tell me about you.”  Abaigeal’s fear rose, but not for herself.  Glancing at her father she saw no fear in the man’s eyes.

            “What have you done to my father, J’nar?”  Abaigeal leveled a malevolent gaze at the cabalist, struggling to remain calm in the face of evil.  J’nar turned to face the young woman.  His smile was almost warm and comforting.

            “Why nothing, my dear,” the ancient mage answered.  Abaigeal did not believe a word of it.  “Your father is who he is:  a skilled warrior who recognizes power, a true champion, and the best servant a master could hope for.”  Abaigeal narrowed her eyes at J’nar whose smile evaporated.

            “No my dear,” J’nar sneered, “there is no spell controlling your father; he serves me because he wants to; because _that_ is what he does.”

            The platform finally came to rest at the top of the shaft.  There Abaigeal saw a chamber which seemed to defy every natural law.  The floor was made of a black marble with the occasional streak of white or gold imperfections.  Its solid form seemed to absorb more sound than it reflected.  The very same material made up rows of columns that led to a single chair at the end of the chamber.  Beyond the chair resided a tremendous balcony.

            Abaigeal obediently followed her father and J’nar towards the balcony, and it was on the way that she noticed another bizarre feature of the chamber.  Looking up, Abaigeal saw the giant columns extending infinitely high to a black ceiling.  The young woman could only guess that there was a ceiling, for she could see nothing but a black, starless void.

            A muted blue hue illuminated the entire chamber, the magical source of which was beyond Abaigeal’s comprehension.  Everything about the castle and J’nar’s chamber instilled the young woman with incredible sense of dread.  But Abaigeal was able to concentrate on the moment and suppress her fear.  Countless hours of training on the ways of the Path of Harmony with the elderly druid Eileen had taught her to focus her mind.  And now with an unprecedented opportunity to strike at the heart of the evil in her mother’s homeland, Abaigeal needed all the concentration she could muster.  If only she could overcome one last obstacle: her bindings.

            “Lord Aeryk, if you please?” J’nar commanded his champion.  Abaigeal was confused and looked to her father.  Aeryk made a simple gesture and Abaigeal raised her bound wrists to him.  With stunning speed, the seasoned mercenary drew his sword.  Abaigeal barely had time to blink as the black blade cut through her bindings and was nestled back in its scabbard upon her father’s hip.  The unspoken communication between father and daughter was a revelation that gave Abaigeal renewed hope, and was completely missed by J’nar, as was the danger of freeing a young blademistress’s hands.

            Abaigeal watched the bindings fall from her wrists to the floor in awe.  _J’nar must be incredibly arrogant, indeed_ , she thought.  _Or incredibly powerful_. 

            J’nar considered Abaigeal with a mischievous grin.  “I see no reason to keep you bound; it would be rude.  She willingly gave up her weapon, did she not, Lord Aeryk?”  J’nar’s smile never disappeared as he leveled his eyes at Abaigeal.  “But then a Blademaster is never truly unarmed, is she?”  Abaigeal recoiled slightly.

            “Come, my dear,” J’nar invited as he sat upon his throne.

            With her hands free, Abaigeal continued her meditations as she and her father approached the old mage.

            “No doubt you wish to observe the battle.”  Abaigeal’s heart pounded in her chest.  She had almost forgotten her aunt and uncle and the liberation of Hibernia.  Abaigeal walked further out onto the balcony for a better view.  Sure enough, there in the distance approached a small army.  Abaigeal could not see from her vantage, but she knew the army was made up of the entirety of the Hibernian expatriates and a small number of Midgard allies.

*******

            West of Muire’s Tomb, nearly five hundred liberators emerged from the edge of the forest.  To the south where once had stood their beloved capital Tir na Nog, now stood the black castle bearing the name Darkspire. 

            Many of the older returning Hibernian liberators remembered their capital city, but were not present for its destruction; few who had tried to defend Tir na Nog almost twenty winters ago had been allowed to live after their defeat.  The whispers of what Albion had done to the old city – and what they had erected in its place – did not prepare them for what they saw.

            The black smoke billowing from the surrounding keep gave off a deathly stench.  The unnatural glow from the black rock that made up the structure contributed to the dread Castle Darkspire instilled in all those who saw it.  J’nar’s stronghold was truly an abomination in the Hibernian homeland.

            But there was no time to waste mourning over their loss.  This was to be the day of reckoning for Albion and their misdeeds, and the liberators would be the ones to collect.  Under the cover of darkness, the forces began to assemble their stolen siege weapons.  Trebuchet, nearly ten times as tall as the tallest troll were carefully erected and secured to the ground.  Beside each of the three trebuchets several ballistae were placed to aid those tasked with defending the great weapons.

            Commander Glynis kept a close eye on the valley below.  The hill upon which her forces were mounting their attack was easily defended, but only with the element of surprise.  The blonde-haired commander patrolled the staging area.  “Quickly.  It will only be a matter of time before they know of our presence.” 

            As the strongest members of their group – trolls, dwarves and firbolgs – worked to rebuild their assigned trebuchet, Liam and Romana stood guard.  Liam drew his bow and inspected it carefully.  Romana looked at the castle before them and shuddered drawing her husband’s attention.  Liam could see the sadness in her eyes.

            “It will be gone before dawn, I promise you,” said Liam. 

            Romana closed her eyes and prayed silently for a moment before drawing her great sword.  “It is not the castle that I’m worried about.”

            Liam nodded.  The seasoned ranger was about to speak when the alarm went up.

            “East flank!” 

            All heads turned.  At first only the sound of the marching footsteps gave any indication of the approaching army.  Then, from the dark forest surrounding the hill, a line of almost a hundred shield-bearing Albion armsmen emerged.  Once the soldiers cleared the trees their shields were locked into an impenetrable wall.  Behind the first line, a second line of armsmen held their own shields above their comrades.

            More soldiers of Albion followed behind the approaching phalanx.  Archers, wizards, and others waited to get into range.  In all over five hundred fighters converged on the Hibernian liberators on their hill.

            “Keep working on the trebuchets!” Commander Glynis shouted.  “Defenders, converge to the east!  We have the high ground!  Defend the trebuchets at all cost!”

            A barrage of arrows from the Albion ranks sent the liberators diving for cover.  Most of the arrows missed their mark, but the engineers still trying to assemble the trebuchets were easy targets.  Many of them were hit and were immediately beset upon by the Druids and Healers nearby.  The injured men and women were quickly back up and working tirelessly on the trebuchets once again.

            In response to the attack, the liberators began the rain down hell upon the Albion forces.  The mages and mystics hurled their destructive magic while the Hunters and Rangers pinned down as many of the soldiers as they could with arrows.

            A few Albion armsmen fell to the barrage leaving holes in the approaching phalanx.  However the rest of the attacking forces slowly made their way up the hill under the protective cover the armsmen’s tower shields.

            On the south side of the hill, Liam was about to join the other defenders until Romana grabbed his arm.

            “Liam, no!  We must stay with our group,” Romana said.  Liam saw the fear in his wife’s eyes.  The ranger hesitantly agreed then his blood ran cold.

            “Oh no.”

            “What?”  Romana turned to see what her husband was looking at and gasped.  A second force of Albion soldiers was heard approaching from the West.  “Liam, it’s a trap!”

            The call went out and Glynis ran to the other side of the hill to survey the new threat.  There she saw and even larger force of Albion soldiers closing in on them.  A second phalanx began its march up the hill towards the liberators.  Glynis gritted her teeth and grabbed one of her lieutenants. 

            “Light the fonts,” Glynis commanded.

            “It’s too early!” the lieutenant said.

            “Do it now!”

            At the top of the hill an ancient druid was roused from his meditation.  The old celt was unfazed by the din of the battle that surrounded him; his hearing having mostly left him seasons ago.  As his apprentice helped him up, he opened his eyes revealing milky white pupils.  The blind druid reached out with trembling hands and his apprentice handed him his staff.  The pair hobbled a few strides towards the defenders.  At the edge of the liberation forces, the ancient druid paused then began chanting.

            The old man’s words grew in volume and a yellow light began to surround the defenders.  The glow penetrated everyone on the hill, infusing the men and women with strength and stamina.  With the druid’s magical aid on their side, the Hibernian liberators fought with renewed vigor, and the Albion advance was halted in its tracks.

            However, for the ancient celt druid, the battle was over.  The exertion of invoking the tremendous power of the Atlantian magic was too great, and the Druid collapsed in a heap on the ground.  Commander Glynis watched the Druid’s apprentice try to revive the old man.  The young apprentice finally looked up from his master.

            “He’s gone,” the apprentice said to the commander.  Glynis nodded.

            “As he knew he would be.”

            “I pray his sacrifice was worth it, my lady.”

            Glynis turned away and surveyed the raging battle.  If it bought them more time, it will be worth it, she thought.

*******

            J’nar chuckled.  “As you can see, child, your army is lost and the liberation of Hibernia will end tonight.”  Abaigeal – who had been watching the battle – gripped the stone railing and tried to calm herself.  The attack on Darkspire had been a long shot – that much she knew – but watching the battle play out as it had was non-the-less disheartening. 

            “It doesn’t matter,” the young blademistress said quietly.  Abaigeal took several slow, deep breaths and buried her rage.  Behind her Lord Aeryk watched.  The dark lord could not see his daughter’s face, but he could sense the emotion buried deep within her threating to erupt.  Aeryk’s enhanced sight saw the raw power beginning to reveal itself.  It was a familiar power – the mercenary had seen it before – but it was manifesting in a way he had never witnessed before in all his confrontations. 

            On the balcony, Abaigeal concentrated on all of her training.  She blocked out the sound of the battle below, the shuffle of the two men behind her, and even the sound of her own breathing.  Abaigeal recalled all that she had learned about the Path of Harmony:  everything her uncle had taught her about wielding two blades, everything she had learned from the druid Eileen, and the lessons that Rayne had imparted on the training room floor – as well as those in their private chambers.  Abaigeal tried to remember all those who had shown her love and compassion:  her aunt Romana, Katzch, Skahan, and many others. 

            “It doesn’t matter in the least, J’nar,” Abaigeal stated again, “because you won’t be around to see it.”  Lord Aeryk furrowed his brow and reached for his swords.

            Abaigeal spun around and called forth upon the Blademaster’s innate abilities, however for Abaigeal, this time was different.  With a cry the blademistress conjured two ethereal blades from nowhere.  The identical stilettos glowed with a brilliant blue aura as the young blademistress gripped them tightly.  Abaigeal dived towards J’nar only to be intercepted by Lord Aeryk.  The dark lord’s blades batted Abaigeal’s magical blades away only inches from J’nar’s chest.

            J’nar chuckled as Abaigeal leapt back, avoiding Lord Aeryk’s riposte.

*******

            Behind the battle lines, a handful of Albion fighters observed the stalemate on the hill.  The small group was led by a hulking, beast of a man clad from head to toe in black armor.  Known only as The Demon, the man’s real name had long been forgotten, and none under his command had ever seen him without his armor.  No one in Albion knew where the man had come from, but The Daemon had been charged by J’nar himself with the defense of his Hibernian stronghold.

            The Demon watched the stalemate on the hill, his breathing heard through his helmet coming in sick, slurping gasps.  The noise was unsettling.  Even over the sounds of the battle, The Daemon’s men could hear him.  After a long pause, The Daemon turned to the mage in the group and grunted an order.

            At his leader’s command, the wizard strode in front of the men and began his spell.  There was no haste in the mage’s incantations and the man concentrated carefully on the syllables.  There could be no mistake in the spell; the pinnacle in the Convoker line of spells required great skill.  The Daemon stared at the man through his horned helmet waiting for something to happen.  The seasoned mage before him ignored his commander’s impatience, and continued his work.

            Halfway through the wizard’s incantation, the air before the group began to crackle with energy.  Shimmering purple lights danced about and spread out until a figure no taller than the wizard appeared from nothing amongst the dancing lights.  The creature was incorporeal, almost like glass, but was human in shape.  The creature’s form began to coalesce into something more substantial… and grow. 

            As the figure became more solid, it grew taller.  Soon the magical purple creature was as tall as the three Hibernian trebuchets on the hill, its skin hardened, and for the first time it moved.  Stretching its tremendous arms, the Crystal Titan roared.  On the hill above, Commander Glynis and her forces turned to see the new threat.

            “Fire on the beast!” Glynis shouted when her shock wore off.  Every engineer immediately converged on one trebuchet in an attempt to complete its construction.

            Behind the Crystal Titan, The Daemon shouted at the wizard controlling his pet.  The wizard pointed his staff at the Hibernian fighters and the Titan began lumbering up the hill.  A barrage of arrows pelted the mystical golem with no effect; the Crystal Titan’s slow advance continued unabated.

            On the hill, Liam ceased launching arrows at the creature and turned to help construct the trebuchet with Romana in tow.  All of the Hibernian liberators that were not occupied with keeping the Albion infantry at bay also rushed to help.  Glynis watched anxiously over the construction as the Titan’s armored head appeared at the edge of the hill.

            “Hurry!” Glynis shouted.

            “Almost there,” someone replied from halfway up the siege engine.  Romana handed Liam materials.  The celt ranger shimmied up the trebuchet to hand off to a troll who was working frantically to attach the counterweight.  By the time the last pin was in place the Crystal Titan was on a few giant strides away.

            “Fire!” the trebuchet commander ordered.  The latch was released and the counterweight fell as the beam swung, delivering its payload.  But it was too late.

            Glynis watched in horror as the projectile flew wide, missing its target.  Almost immediately the Crystal Titan swung its mighty arms at the trebuchet.  The massive timbers that made up the siege engine snapped like twigs under the creature’s attack.  The sound of the machine’s destruction filled the air as the pent up energy in the counterweight was released sending wood and men flying.  A dwarven engineer screamed as he was crushed, and a dozen other defenders were either killed or injured by flying debris.  Half of the trebuchet beam came swinging directly towards Liam and Romana.

            “Look out!” Liam shouted.  The celt ranger knocked his wife out of the way at the last moment, but the beam continued towards him.  Romana disappeared behind a hail of splintered wood as Liam rolled to safety down the hill.

            The Crystal Titan continued with a singular focus towards the remaining trebuchets, carving a path of destruction.  The Hibernians were in disarray and the Albion forces pressed the advantage.

*******

            High above the battle, Abaigeal and Aeryk sparred in J’nar’s chambers.  The young blademistress had given up trying to slip past her father to assassinate J’nar and instead concentrated on defending herself against the dark lord’s attacks.

            Lord Aeryk kept the young woman on the defensive, but the nimble blademistress avoided his blades skillfully.  At the bottom of the steps leading to J’nar’s throne, father and daughter fought.  However the combat began to take on a more elegant style.  As before – during their fight in Castle Benowyc – their movements became more fluid, and their duel looked more like a dance.

            Abaigeal and Aeryk sparred for several more tense minutes until Abaigeal recognized the stalemate.  Purposefully placing herself in a vulnerable position, Abaigeal caught the expected downward slash of her father’s primary blade.  With the blade locked between her crossed stilettos, the young blademistress used the force of her father’s attack to propel herself back some twenty paces.

            Abaigeal landed gracefully and waited for her father to rush, but instead found him standing where she had left him, his twin blades held low.  The young blademistress relaxed for a moment and hoped that perhaps her father had given up.

            “Is our conflict over, father?” she asked.  “Do you now see reason?”  Aeryk took a firm step forward and Abaigeal backed up a step to match.

            “You came for a fight, Abaigeal,” the dark mercenary said as he took another step.  “You had best be prepared to see this through.”  Abaigeal continued to back up, keeping her distance from her father.

            “No,” Abaigeal stated bravely as she lowered her magical blades.  Aeryk stopped and waited.  “You are too honorable, father.  I know what you did for my mother; you won’t kill me.”

            “That is all in the past.”  Aeryk took another step forward and raised his right blade.  “If you desire our battle to end this way, _then so be it_.”  Aeryk slammed the hilt of the sword known as Battler into the marble floor.  Forged in a distant land and cursed by the god Nergal himself, Battler discharged a tremendous wave of energy that ripped the floor to rubble.  The magical force traveled down the corridor towards Abaigeal, shattering the facades of each pair of marble columns in its wake.  The young blademistress turned to run but could not escape the destruction and was quickly engulfed in dust and rubble.

            J’nar’s entire throne room shook under the energy of Aeryk’s mystical weapon for many moments.  When the rumbling had stopped and the dust had begun to clear, Abaigeal was nowhere to be seen.

            Amidst his master’s echoing cackle, Lord Aeryk strode through the rubble to find and confront his daughter.


	13. Through Her Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published September 1st, 2019

 

            “Liam!”  Romana waded through the battle on the hill calling desperately for her beloved.  The Albion phalanx had breached the hill’s defense and the battle turned to chaos as Romana hacked at any enemy unlucky enough to get in her way.  Several other Hibernians gathered and fought alongside the celt heroine but Romana’s movements proved too erratic for any organized resistance.  Romana sought only to break through the line to where she had last seen Liam.

            Behind Romana and her compatriots, the Crystal Titan carved a swath into the Hibernian defenders.  The mages and mystics of the liberation forces unleashed magical bolts of destructive energy upon the titan with no effect.  Although slow, the Crystal Titan made up for its speed with tremendous resilience and strength.  Many Hibernians perished trying to escape the titan’s crushing feet and swinging arms.

            Oblivious to the larger threat, Romana continued her push through the Albion line.  The heroine and her companions succeeded in breaking up the Albion phalanx with spells and steal.  Their efforts in the battle were proving a success until the Titian turned around and began crushing the Hibernian liberators underfoot, taking several Albion armsmen with them.  Romana escaped death by a hair’s width and spun about hacking at the Crystal Titan’s foot.  The purple golem ignored Romana and continued on its path leaving the celt heroine behind.         

*******

            At the bottom of the hill, bruised and battered, the ranger Liam pulled himself out of the bushes.  Liam looked back up the hill to see his friends and allies suffering terribly under the Albion attack.  However Liam could only think of his beloved wife.

            “Romana!” Liam called, but he knew his voice would not carry over the noise of the battle above him.  The celt ranger tried to climb back up the hill, but his injuries – although minor – made the ascent slow.  Liam struggled for a moment until he heard a snarl from behind.

            Liam turned to see The Daemon and his companions behind him; two of them already nocking arrows.  Unaware of whom he was up against, Liam stood his ground.  The seasoned ranger quickly drew his bow and loosed two of his own arrows.  The bowmen on either side of The Daemon were dead before they hit the ground; each one with an arrow between the eyes.  Liam turned his attention to the wizard.  As he expected, his first arrow bounced harmlessly off a magical ward protecting the wizard, but Liam was ready with a second arrow which pierced the distracted mage’s heart not even a breath later.  Behind him, at the top of the hill, Liam could hear a roar from the Crystal Titan as the wizard lost control of the beast.

            The Daemon and his remaining armsman looked to the sound of the angry golem on the hill before turning their attention back to Liam.  Liam simply grinned and loosed another arrow at the hulking fighter in black.  The Daemon casually stepped aside letting the arrow land with a solid _thunk_ into the armsman’s chest, piercing his plate armor and his heart.  The Daemon roared as he drew his great two-handed sword and charged on the ranger. 

            Liam loosed two more arrows, but the hulking Albion fighter evaded them both and was on top of him in a heartbeat.  Liam discarded his bow and drew his twin swords, but the fight’s outcome was almost assuredly in The Daemon’s favor.  Without his weapon of choice or an ally, Liam fought desperately to keep his opponent at bay.  The Albion fighter’s merciless attacks kept the ranger on the defensive and nearly cleaved him in two a few times. 

            The pair fought and The Daemon pushed Liam towards the tree line and further from the hill.  Desperate to escape, Liam side-stepped The Daemon’s brutal overhead cleave.  However before Liam could disarm his opponent, The Daemon threw a powerful haymaker knocking the ranger to the ground.  Liam rolled to the side and leapt to his feet only to catch The Daemon’s great sword on his right. 

            The blade sliced across Liam’s upper arm flinging a trail of blood and sinew across the grass.  The ranger cried out, dropping his right blade and clutching his now useless right arm.  The gash bled profusely and Liam tried to stem the flow with his left hand.  The Daemon chuckled at the defenseless ranger.

            “Your time is up, worm.”  The Albion fighter’s voice sent a chill down Liam’s spine.  The hulking Albion fighter’s otherworldly voice gurgled like a man being strangled.  Liam backed up and tried to hold his remaining sword in defense.  The Daemon took a step forward and raised his two-handed sword to strike until an inhuman scream drew his attention.

            From the hill above, Romana charged at The Daemon, her body bathed in a blue mist.  By the time the heroine arrived at her husband’s defense, the magical mist had coalesced into the form of a giant stag that surrounded and protected Romana.  Liam had witnessed his wife’s ability once before.  Used at a time of great danger and desperation, the Spirit of the Hunt gave the heroine tremendous strength and stamina.  Liam watched and prayed it would be enough against her opponent; the ranger was useless in this fight.

            The Daemon remained fearless in response to Romana’s charge and parried her first swing.  However the celt heroine’s skill and rage combined to push The Daemon back away from her beloved Liam. 

            The fight became legendary.  The two heavily-armored warriors clashed great swords in a battle that could be heard above all others around them.  Romana fought with single-minded determination to protect her husband and rid the earth of another invader.  With sadistic delight The Daemon realized he had finally met his equal; the brutish fighter relished the challenge and knew victory would be all the more sweet.  Never a thought to defeat, The Daemon hacked away at Romana and her spirit animal.

            Their fight drew on longer than Liam thought humanly possible, and the ranger began to fear for his wife.  When Romana appeared to tire, The Daemon lunged, piercing the stag’s side.  Feeling the spirit animal’s pain, Romana cried out.  But the pain only gave Romana the push she needed.  Distracted by the stag’s scream, The Daemon hesitated for a heartbeat and Romana knocked the two-handed sword from his grasp.  Before he could react, Romana thrust her arcanite great sword into The Daemon’s chest, and out his back nailing him to a tree.

            The giant Albion fighter stiffened, skewered through the heart.  Romana gripped her sword tightly and gritted her teeth as she waited for any signs of life.  A slow trickle of blood began to seep out from beneath The Daemon’s helmet and coat his breast plate.  Romana’s shoulders slowly dropped as she finally relaxed, and the stag vaporized leaving a trail of blue mist as it disappeared into the tree branches above.

            Romana took a deep breath and yanked her sword free before rushing to her husband’s side.  The Daemon fell to the ground with a crash.  Unseen by Romana and Liam, The Daemon’s helm rolled away and a small imp crawled out from the empty suit of armor.  The diminutive winged demon known as Eternal Greed flew away and disappeared into the trees.

            Romana found Liam on the ground by the hill and inspected his wounds.  Liam sucked in his breath when his wife pulled his hand away.  The normally stoic heroine’s eyes grew wet.  The gash on Liam’s right shoulder cut all the way to the bone.

            “Liam.”  Romana’s voice cracked.  “I’m so sorry.”

            “Aye, it’s bad.  My future as a ranger looks limited,” Liam joked.

            “Stop.”  Romana cradled her husband’s head in her hands and kissed him.

            “Romana…”

            “Shush.”

            “No, love.”  Liam’s voice grew serious.  “We have company.”  Romana looked up to see a dozen Albion fighters surrounding them.  The husband and wife looked around.  The battle appeared lost.  Romana pulled out a dagger and turned to her husband.

            “I won’t let them take us,” Romana said.  Liam looked into his wife’s eyes and could see the fear that she was trying to hide.

            “It’s alright, love.”

            Tears began to stream down Romana’s cheeks.  The two celts held each other tightly as the soldiers approached, their weapons raised to strike the pair down.  Liam waited for the end, but then the footsteps stopped.  Liam and Romana looked up to see the Albion fighters; a look of confusion on their faces.  But it was not the two helpless celts they were looking at.

            At the top of the hill stood a single Midgardian – a dwarf – bathed from behind in an orange glow.  The female dwarf produced a horn and blew into it.  The sound that followed struck terror into the hearts of the Albion forces.  From behind the woman appeared dozens of mounted Norse and their allies the Frost Elves.  Either with Jordheim’s blessing or without, the forces of Midgard had joined the battle.

            But the dozens at the top of the hill were no ordinary warriors.  Comprised of entirely women, the Valkyries called out to Odin before charging down the hill.  Liam and Romana took cover and the Albion soldiers at the bottom of the hill scattered as the cavalry cut through their ranks.  Many Albion fighters found themselves at the end of a Valkyrie lance, or trampled by their steeds.

            When the Valkyrie had charge passed Liam and Romana, the pair could hear the songs of Bragi.  The Skalds and their songs were almost drowned out by the death cries of the soldiers at the hands of the warriors and berserkers that joined them.  Bewildered and relieved, Liam and Romana held each other.

            “Come, Liam.  The fight is over for us.”  Romana pulled her husband up and the pair sought refuge in the trees nearby.

*******

            Lord Aeryk walked cautiously among the damaged pillars of J’nar’s throne room.  Carefully stepping over the broken shards of black marble left in the wake of his magical attack, the Master Mercenary searched for signs of his daughter.  Seeing no telltale marks in the dust, he chose the direct approach.

            “Show yourself, Abaigeal.”  There was a long pause.

            “No, father.”  The reply echoed throughout the massive chamber.

            “We have reached the end, Abaigeal,” Aeryk said, pivoting on his heels and listening carefully.  “There is no point in drawing this out any further.  It is time we learn who lives and who does not.”

            Behind one of the pillars Abaigeal struggle remain calm.

            _Breathe, Abaigeal_ , a voice told her.  Abaigeal slowly drew a deep breath in silence and her surroundings became a little clearer to her.  She saw her father walking slowing down the corridor towards her hiding spot.  She heard the echo of his footsteps, and felt the breeze across her face as his movements cut through the air.  Abaigeal felt as one with the world around her.

            “Do not do this, father.”  Aeryk froze in place and listened.  “Do not allow them to win.  Do not side with those responsible for killing the woman you loved.”

            Lord Aeryk turned slowly towards whence his daughter’s voice came.  The dark lord saw through Abaigeal’s deceit.  Raising his swords and carefully approaching the damaged pillar, Aeryk narrowed his eyes as he uttered the words that would cost him dearly.

            “No, my dear child,” Aeryk snarled as he prepared to strike, “It wasn’t Albion that killed your mother.”  Abaigeal’s breath caught in her throat.  “After all, it wasn’t Albion that was trying to claw its way from between your mother’s legs, kicking and screaming!”

            Abaigeal trembled as her legs began to buckle.  Her father’s words shook her to her core and she gripped her blades tightly as she struggled to remain standing.  Aeryk’s horrific accusations echoed through Abaigeal’s mind over and over until a single tear ran down her cheek.

            And thus Abaigeal’s harmony was shattered.  The young blademistress lost all connection to the physical world around her and her mind collapsed until it was rescued by the only entity of her Norse heritage that could save her. 

            The deep, primal scream that erupted from Abaigeal’s throat was the only warning to her father that he had picked the wrong pillar.

            Lord Aeryk spun around to intercept Abaigeal’s blades but the sheer ferocity of his daughter’s mindless attacks left him with no opportunity to counter.  Abaigeal’s mind was in the full grip of the Norse god Modi as she lunged repeatedly at her father, and – for the first time in many years – Lord Aeryk feared for his life.

            Abaigeal, however, felt nothing but rage.  Her vision narrowed to a tunnel aimed directly at a single target, and she heard nothing but the blood pumping through her ears.  She was the antithesis of the Path of Harmony; she was a Hand of Modi.  The Berserkers – the Vikings who served Modi – could cut down swaths of men with ease, but at a tremendous cost.  With no concern to them but the death of their enemy, the berserker forfeits all defense in favor of attack – often slaughtering friend and foe alike.  And now Abaigeal focused on killing her father. 

            The fight immediately turned one-sided as Abaigeal kept Lord Aeryk on his heels with a relentless series of wild slashes with both of her shimmering magical blades.  Aeryk scored only a few hits in the midst of parrying his daughter’s blades, but none were able to penetrate even her light armor.

            Abaigeal pushed her father further and further back towards J’nar’s throne.  Retreat was impossible; Abaigeal’s bloodlust would push her beyond her mortal limits.  Lord Aeryk was out of options and was left with only his instinct to survive. 

            Abaigeal’s instincts, however, told her that the end was near and she began a final flurry of attacks.  Hacking away at her father with her twin stilettos, Abaigeal screamed in rage.  But then a voice called to the young blademistress.  Deep from within her very soul a young woman called out her name.         

            _Abaigeal._

            Abaigeal tried to ignore it, but her eyes drifted from the battle.  Her berserker blood told her to push on, but the woman’s voice became louder.  The part of Abaigeal that had been slapped aside by Modi began to stir. 

            _Who are you?_ Abaigeal thought.

            _No one_ , answered Modi, and Abaigeal returned her focuse to her father.  Lord Aeryk noticed his daughter’s brief distraction and quickly stepped in to take advantage of it, but it was too late.

            _Abaigeal!_ the young woman cried again.

            Abaigeal parried her father’s riposte, knocking Battler out of his hands.  The magical blade was sent flying and Lord Aeryk was left with a single sword.  And then Aeryk made the mistake that would cost him his life.  Reaching over his shoulder for Timber Walker’s Defender, Lord Aeryk opened his right flank to attack.  Abaigeal instinctively spun about with her right blade leading.

            _ABAIGEAL!_ the woman screamed in frantic desperation.

            Lord Aeryk saw his error but could do nothing as Abaigeal’s magical stiletto sank deep into his side.  Aeryk cried out as he fell back skidding several feet until he was lying against the stairs leading up to the watching J’nar.

            Abaigeal was on her father in a heartbeat straddling his waist with her remaining blade poised to pierce his heart.  Aeryk looked up and saw his daughter’s face contorted with rage.  But Abaigeal did not strike.

            _Breathe, Abaigeal._

            Heaving several angry breaths, the young blademistress looked into her father’s eyes.  For a scant second Abaigeal thought she recognized the voice and began to tremble.  She saw terror in her father’s eyes and Modi lost his grip on her mind.

            “F-father?”  Abaigeal’s eyes welled up with tears.  Aeryk simply stared back and winced in pain.  Abaigeal saw the mortal would and gasped, but when she tried to reach for the blade that was embedded in her father’s side he pushed her hand away.  The post-battle fatigue wreaked havoc on Abaigeal in her fragile state and tears began to stream down her cheeks.

           “Father,” she cried softly, “I’m so sorry.”  Aeryk simply stared back at her and waited to take his final breath.  Abaigeal trembled, her mind barely able to comprehend what she had done.  A soft cackle from above drew her attention.

            “Excellent, my dear.”  J’nar’s voice was almost gleeful.  “You are truly powerful.  You embody the strongest traits of your entire heritage.” 

            Once again Abaigeal saw the true threat in the room and focused her anger.  She could save her father, but first this… _thing_ … must die.  Drawing herself up to full height, Abaigeal held her remaining ethereal stiletto at the ready.

            “It is time you join with me, child,” J’nar continued.  “With your power at my disposal the realms will soon be mine.”  Abaigeal gritted her teeth and sneered.

            “Wrong, J’nar, I will never join you!” the young blademistress shouted.  “You may have taken my mother and bewitched my father, but you will never take me! Come and die!”  Abaigeal leapt over her father with her weapon aimed directly at the grizzled mage’s head.

            However J’nar casually raised his staff and a bolt of energy hurled Abaigeal across the room.  Abaigeal landed with a hard thud that knocked the wind from her lungs and her only weapon from her hand.  When the magical stiletto hit the floor it shattered into dust leaving Abaigeal weaponless.  The young woman heaved a breath and tried to get up.

            “It was not an invitation, child,” J’nar laughed as he stepped over the defeated Aeryk.  Abaigeal pulled herself up but was knocked down again by J’nar’s magical attack:  this time a dark orb of Void magic.  “I don’t need your cooperation, to use your abilities.” 

            Again Abaigeal tried to get up, and again she was knocked down by a new magical attack from the evil Cabalist. 

            “Father!” Abaigeal cried.  Aeryk could only watch the assault unfold.

            J’nar continued to advance on Abaigeal assaulting her with magic of every possible nature until he stood before her.  Abaigeal used the pause in J’nar’s offensive spells to lunge at him with her bare hands, but the feeble mage dropped his staff and grabbed her wrist with surprising strength.  When Abaigeal swung her other fist, J’nar raised his hand.  Abaigeal’s body went rigid; J’nar’s spell paralyzed every muscle in her body.  Abaigeal struggled against the spell and J’nar laughed.

            “Miserable child.  It’s time you left.” 

            J’nar released Abaigeal physically, but the spell held her tight.  As J’nar waved his hands causing the young blademistress to levitate into the air, Abaigeal regained a small shred of her free will.

            “Father, please!” she screamed. 

            Across the room, Aeryk pulled himself up.  The blade in his side made it an act of pure agony, but Aeryk bore through the pain and focused on Abaigeal and his master.

            “Help me!”  Abaigeal’s tearful cries were squelched from her throat as Aeryk shuffled slowly towards the pair.  Ignoring his servant, J’nar raised his hands.  Abaigeal’s eyes shifted from her father back to the cabalist as a frightening transformation began to take place.

            The ancient avalonian’s expression turned blank and the blackness that had enveloped his eyes for so many years faded to reveal the deep blue that J’nar’s eyes possessed long ago.  Visible only to Abaigeal, a hideous creature crawled from J’nar’s mouth.  The daemon’s face bore a sickly grin as it reached for Abaigeal.  The young blademistress felt the beast invade her mind and push her soul into the abyss.

            “P̷r̢e͏par̨e ͞fo̧r҉ ̧̻̖̠̭͍̳͋̑̐͋ͫͥ̑̎̚o̵͖͔̩͕̓́̄̔ͧ̋ͮ̕b̶̻̠̱͈̣̏͊̀͢l͖̗̳̹͍ͣ̍͛̒̍͑̕͜i̸̛̭̙͚̻̻̰̙ͧ̓̓ͫ̈ͫ̚͡v̧̪̼̱̦̺̱̰̮̩̅͂i̻̖̲̖͚͙͍̫̖ͥ̍̈o͔̪̲̗̻̐̈́̽́̓͞ń̘͉͖ͨ͛ͬ, ̷͛ͥ̅̆͏̵̷̢͇̭̬͈̦̜͙ͅh̴̷̭͎̞͎̣̗͎̔ͩ̔ͥ͗̈́ͧ̀͆ͩù̡̅͛̂̃̇́̾ͦ̽̓̚͘͏̢̨̭͎̖̤͚̜ͅḿ̆̊̒ͧͣ̀͒̽ͯͣ͒͏҉̸̰͓͇̟͘a̲̞̟̗̖͙͍͇̫̠̘̭̺̒͗̅̈̍ͬͮͯ̓́̂ͣͦͨ̽͞ͅn̢̞̪̘̞͚̪͋̈́̾̽ͧ̈́͆̊ͥ͋͑͐̉̂̌̈́̚!”          

            Abaigeal focused on all her training to maintain contact with the physical world but she stood no chance against a being of the underworld.  She began to lose consciousness and the last thing she saw was her father standing behind J’nar.

            Lord Aeryk stood behind his master and watched as Abaigeal’s eyes began to darken as if being filled with black pitch.  He looked down at the magical blade his daughter had left in his side, then back to Abaigeal.  When his daughter’s eyes resembled those of his master’s, Aeryk’s rage exploded and all he could see was his child in peril.  With a deep breath, Aeryk wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his daughter’s weapon.  Pulling with all his might Aeryk roared and ripped the ethereal stiletto from his own flesh before plunging it into J’nar’s back.

            J’nar’s face contorted in agony, but no sound escaped the old man’s lips.  Abaigeal’s soul regained its footing in her own mind before she fell to the floor when the spell holding her was broken.  Looking up she saw her father holding the blade in J’nar’s back before losing consciousness. 

            When the daemon realized what was happening its deafening roar echoed throughout the chamber.  But it was too late for the spawn of the underworld; the ethereal blade drew the creature back into J’nar’s body where the ancient cabalist drew a final, terrified breath.  The room was silent for a heartbeat before J’nar exploded in a shower of magical energy that washed over Abaigeal and knocked Aeryk to the floor.

            Blue flames and tendrils of energy engulfed the cavernous chamber before slowly dissipating as they rose into the ceiling.  When it was all over, Aeryk struggled to lift himself from the floor.  There was no trace of his former master; only his young daughter lying motionless on the cold marble.

 *******

            The Crystal Titan marched mindlessly northwest.  The moment the wizard controlling the Atlantean golem perished, the titan continued straight as an arrow in the direction it had last been ordered.  Nothing was safe.  The titan destroyed everything it encountered be it man, beast, Hibernian, or Albion until its journey took it far from the battle on the hill.  Moving from tree to tree a safe distance behind the titan, Cillis and Torryl followed.

            “That thing’s not gonna stop, now is it?” Cillis asked rhetorically.  Torryl shook his head.

            “Not ‘till it heads out to sea.”

            “Are you sure about that?  Willing to take that risk with your homeland?”

            “No.  And not with your home either; it could find its way to the shores of Gotar eventually.  But we have more pressing matters at the moment.  Look.”  Torryl pointed to the gaping hole in the tree line made by the titan.  Beyond a short clearing lay a small farm with a single structure on the other side of a field.

            Torryl sighed.  “I know that farm.  Hopefully no one lives there any-… aw shite.”

            Cillis squinted to see what had alarmed her companion.  A light in the barn’s loft had appeared and a blonde-haired woman poked her head out of the window.  Terrified screams could be heard from within.  Cillis recognized the source of such high-pitched wails.

            “Children, Torryl!  Several of them!”  Torryl was already running towards the titan, and Cillis quickly followed.  Catching up to him on the heels of the titan, Cillis asked the obvious question.  “What’s your plan?”

            Torryl answered with a swing of his staff against the Crystal Titan’s ankle.  The titan ignored the tiny mage and continued on.

            “ _That_ was your plan!?” Cillis shouted.

            “You’re so smart, you try a spell then.”

            “It would make more sense!” Cillis retorted.  The Kobold Runemistress stopped running and began her spell.  A moment later a bolt of energy launched at the titan’s back.  The two mages watched as the magic projectile bounced harmlessly off the titan’s armor.

            “Well that helped,” Torryl said.

            “Oh shut up!”  Cillis’s words were cut off by a deafening roar.  A dozen paces before them the Crystal Titan had stopped and turned around to pursue its puny assailants.

            “Run!”

            “Well, at least we saved the farm.”  Cillis winked at her companion.

            “Fecking brilliant!  Now save _us!_ ” 

            Cillis and Torryl leapt over a fallen tree as they ran through the small plot of farmland.  The Crystal Titan crushed the fallen tree in its pursuit.  It was almost a casual walk for the titan, and the diminutive mages easily kept out of range.

            “Ever seen one of these things before?” Torryl asked his companion as they ran.

            “Aye, once.”

            “How did ya kill it?”

            “We didn’t; something else a lot bigger did.”

            “Hell’s bells,” Torryl cursed as he and Cillis ran through a field of wheat.

            “Got anything around here the same size as that thing?”

            “No, not really…wait!”  Torryl grabbed his Kobold companion, pulling her to the side and out of the path of the titan’s swinging fist.  “This way!”

            “Where?”  Cillis was running out of breath and by the time their sprint had taken them to the edge of the farm, the runemistress was ready to collapse.  “What the hell,” Cillis paused, panting heavily, “is your plan?”

            Torryl pulled his companion to her feet and pointed to the empty field.  Cillis saw about a dozen or so short, squat beasts milling about in the moonlight.  Some were no larger than Cillis herself.

            “Those?!  Are you mad?  They’ll never take down that thing!”  Cillis pointed to the rapidly approaching Titian behind them.

            “Quickly!  Hit them.  Hit them all, but don’t kill them; just enough to anger them.”

            “What?” 

            Torryl ignored Cillis and began hurling small, magical orbs at the small, blue creatures known as Parthanan.  Cillis quickly follow her friend’s lead and cast her own minor attacks.  As expected the beasts roared with anger, but to Cillis’s surprise they did not attack…not immediately.  The two mages watched as the Parthanan converged on each other at the center of the barren field.  There, to Cillis’s fascination and horror, the beasts began to merge and grow.

            Each time a Parthanan touched another, a single larger Parthanan stood in their place.  The beasts all joined with their brethren until only one giant Parthanan amalgamate remained.  The towering beast peered down its grotesque nose at the little mages and growled before it began its charge.

            Cillis tried to run, but Torryl grabbed her cloak.

            “Not yet,” the lurikeen Eldritch said.  Cillis looked behind to see the Crystal Titan getting closer.

            “Torryl!”

            “Wait for it.”

            “By Hel, you idiot, it’s almost on us!”  Panicking, Cillis’s voice cracked.

            “Wait for it...” Torryl said calmly as he watched the giant Parthanan bear down on them.  Cillis looked behind them and screamed.

            “Now!”

            Cillis barely heard her companion’s signal.  Cillis and Torryl leapt to the side and ran off as the two giants met where the mages had been standing only a heartbeat before.  Having found a more important target, the Crystal Titan latched onto the Parthanan’s neck with its huge hands.  But when the Atlantean golem tried to slam the creature down, the Parthanan responded with an attack of its own.

            At the edge of the farm, Cillis and Torryl watched the melee. At first it appeared that the Crystal Titan was winning.  Each swing of the titan’s fist knocked several small Parthanans out of the amalgam.  But the smaller beasts simply reformed and joined the giant that was made up of its own kind.  They appeared to be at a stalemate, but the Parthanan had the advantage of some rudimentary, beast-like intelligence.

            As the Parthanan hammered away at the Crystal Titan with its fists, it eventually hit something important.  The purple glowing crystal on the titan’s chest cracked and the golem staggered.  The Parthanan immediately recognized the weak spot and pulled at the glimmering jewel.  The titan roared as more cracks appeared.  The Parthanan itself roared with the effort and snapped the magical jewel off the titan, hurling it away.

            Torryl squeezed his companion’s hand.  “Time to go, love.”  Cillis stared, mouth agape, as the Crystal Titan began to crumble.  “Best not be around, when the beast remembers who pissed it off in the first place.”

            The little couple walked briskly, hand in hand, putting as much distance between them and the angry beast as they could.  Soon they found themselves at Darkspire again, and in the company of more allies than when they had left.  Exhausted, Cillis grabbed Torryl around the waist and leaned into him.

            “You’re smart, for an idiot…and a Lurikeen,” Cillis said.  “Not that the two are mutually exclusive.”  Torryl grinned and accepted the insult.

            “Aye.  I love you to, ya beautiful, plump, pixie.”  Despite her fatigue Cillis responded with a punch to the lurikeen’s midsection.  Torryl laughed and hugged his companion.  Cillis smiled then looked to the remnants of the battle at the base of the castle.

            “So what do you plan to do about that thing?” she asked, indicating the black monstrosity.  Commander Glynis approached the couple before Torryl could answer.

            “The battle is won,” Glynis said with a tired breath.  “Camelot’s forces have been routed, but Darkspire still stands.  I have no more trebuchets, and no way to bring it down.”

            Torryl stared at the woman before he realized that she was addressing him.  The lurikeen Eldritch rubbed his chin for a moment, thinking.

            “How many mages can you round up, Commander?” he asked.

            “Mages?”  Glynis furrow her brow, but Torryl suddenly pulled away from Cillis and began a spell.  All eyes turned to the diminutive mage as he released a powerful bolt of energy towards the castle, shattering a small chunk of the outer stone wall.

            There was no need for Glynis to give the order.  Immediately every robed mage in the area converged on Cillis and Torryl, following lurikeen’s lead.  Dozens of bolts of magic began pummeling the castle.  Without J’nar’s magic to protect it, the onslaught quickly chipped away at the structure.

            Cillis stood by her companion and cast her own spells.

            “Will you be glad to see it gone, love?” Cillis asked.

            “You have no idea.”

            “Well, consider this my gift to you,” Cillis said with a wink.

*******

            Abaigeal floated through a haze of semi-consciousness and dreamed of a childhood that never happened.  The infant Abaigeal found herself wrapped in blankets and cradled in her mother’s arms.  Looking up she saw a beautiful young woman wiping the tears from her eyes, and a handsome father beaming with pride.  As she grew, Abaigeal swung hand-in-hand between her mother and father.  She and her parents were happy, and there was no war or suffering.

            But her mother and father began to change over time.  Their joy faded, and soon their very faces shifted to that of a more familiar pair.  Liam and Romana swept the young Abaigeal off her feet and carried her back to their home.  Home was a familiar-looking village, but cold and gray.  The laughter remained, but the joy in everyone’s hearts was muted by a deep sadness.  The young Abaigeal cried and ran from the village.  She loved Romana and Liam, but she wanted her mother and father.  Looking back she saw her adoptive parents – the ones she called auntie and uncle – standing at the edge of the village watching her leave.  Abaigeal turned away with tears streaming down her cheeks and ran into the arms of her parents.  Safe again, Abaigeal cried out, begging her mama and papa never to leave her again.  The low rumble of thunder announced the approach of a distant storm.

*******

            A low rumble shook J’nar’s chambers causing Abaigeal to stir.  The young woman’s mind fought through the cloud of magic that was slowly wearing off and her muscles twitched as she tried to move through the pain.  When a second, louder explosion shook the tallest tower of Castle Darkspire, the half conscious and delirious Abaigeal called out. 

            “Papa!”  The young woman took a gasping breath and coughed – the air burning her lungs.  Slowly regaining consciousness, Abaigeal found herself lying prone across Aeryk’s torso.  “Father!” she cried as she tried to pull herself up.  Aeryk stirred and wrapped his arms around Abaigeal, holding her in a tight embrace.

            For the moment, Abaigeal felt safe. 

           Wrapped in her father’s arms, the young woman rested – but another explosion brought her out of her reverie.  Sitting up, Abaigeal tried to pull her father with her, but Aeryk groaned.  Realizing the futility, Abaigeal helped prop her father against the base of a nearby column.  It was then that she felt a warm rush against her thigh.

            Looking down Abaigeal saw the crimson stain across her lap and realized what her father had done:  By removing her magical blade from his side, Aeryk had removed the only means of stopping the flow of blood from the wound his daughter had inflicted.  Her father had sacrificed his own life to save her.  Abaigeal placed her hand over the wound in an attempt to stem the flow of blood.  It was a futile gesture and she knew it.

            Aeryk looked at his daughter and heaved a pained sigh.  “Forgive me, Abaigeal.”  Abaigeal clutched her father’s hand and tears began streaming down her cheeks.

            “Yes, of course,” Abaigeal said, trying to smile through the tears.

            For the first time since the loss of his wife, a heavy weight was lifted from Aeryk’s heart.  The smile that greeted his daughter washed away any remaining anger Abaigeal felt towards her father.

            “You turned out alright, Abaigeal, even without me.  I’m just sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”   Aeryk pulled his daughter close and Abaigeal leaned into his embrace.  Abaigeal pressed her cheek against her father’s chest and her father wrapped his arms around her once again.

            “Now go, Abaigeal.”  Aeryk looked around at the ruined chamber which was to become his tomb.  “Leave me, here.”

            “No, father.”  Abaigeal sat up.  “Don’t say that.  I need you!  I came to take you home, but–” the young mixed-blood woman wiped the tears from her eyes, “–I don’t know where home is.” 

            Aeryk smiled knowingly at his daughter.  “A dilemma all too common in our family.  Home is with the one’s you love, Abaigeal.”  Abaigeal considered her father’s words and the flow of her tears increased.

            “But,” Abaigeal’s voice was barely a whisper, “I love you.”

            “I know, Abaigeal.”  Aeryk looked into his daughter’s eyes.  “You did well.  Keeley would have been…”  Aeryk sucked in his breath – his face finally revealing some of his pain – before smiling again.  “Your mother _is_ proud of you.”

            Abaigeal could do little but weep as her father smiled at her and allowed his eyes to close for the last time.  As his world began to fade, Aeryk saw a brilliant, glowing figure behind his daughter.  The glow began to coalesce into a human shape and – before he slipped into death – Aeryk took comfort in the fact that the being sprouted a pair of feathered wings.

            _You’re safe now, Abaigeal._

            Abaigeal felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.  Startled, she turned to see Lady Isabella.  The cleric’s eyes radiated both compassion and sadness.

            “Oh, my lady, please you have to save him!” begged Abaigeal.  Isabella kneeled beside the young woman, placed her hand on Aeryk’s head, and closed her eyes.  Abaigeal watched but her heart sank when the cleric furrowed her brow.

            “I am sorry, Abaigeal,” Isabella sighed deeply, “but your father’s spirit is no longer among us.”  She turned to Abaigeal.  “I believe he seeks eternity elsewhere.”

            “No, please…”  Abaigeal clutched the woman’s arm.

            “I’m sorry.” 

            Isabella said a prayer for her old friend as she held his daughter in her arms.  Sobbing, Abaigeal clung to the cleric until the explosions that shook the tower could no longer be ignored.

            “Abaigeal, we must go.”

*******

            As Romana bandaged his arm, Liam sat and stared at J’nar’s stronghold slowly burning to the ground.  The battle was over and the husband and wife had retreated to the hills northeast of the castle to lick their wounds in safety.  For Liam the night was almost perfect:  the culmination of nearly two decades of fighting alongside the woman he loved.  But the victory was bittersweet for Romana.

            “It’s finally gone,” the ranger said as his thoughts drifted to the great city of Tir na Nog that once stood before them.  “Perhaps someday we will rebuild the old city.”  Romana was silent; concentrating on dressing Liam’s wound.  “Gods, it was beautiful.”  Liam sighed.

            “I had never been to Tir na Nog,” Romana whispered after a long silence.  Barely finished with her husband’s bandages, the usually stalwart heroine broke down into sobs.  Liam held her tightly with his good arm.

            “I’m so sorry, Liam, I can’t help it,” she said through the tears.  “I just miss her so much!”  Liam tried to comfort Romana, but it was no use.  “She was my daughter in every way but blood!” 

            “I’m sorry, Romana.  I didn’t mean to drive her away.”  Romana buried her face in her husband’s neck and took a deep breath.

            “It’s not your fault; she wanted to meet her destiny.”

            “We should have been by her side.” 

          “No,” Romana said, shaking her head.  “It was her path to follow, and we would have just gotten in the way.”  Exhausted, Romana curled up in Liam’s embrace and watched the castle burn.  “I just wish I had more time with her.”

            Romana laid her head in Liam’s lap.  The tears continued as the two celts from Connla watched Darkspire burn.  Liam stroked his wife’s hair, and Romana sighed.  Eventually the tears ran dry and the flames grew brighter.  The entire countryside was bathed in the orange glow of Darkspire’s pyre.  Romana heaved a deep, resigned sigh and stared at the flames absently – until something caught her eye.

            “Look!” 

            At the base of the castle – emerging from the flames – were two figures pulling a cart.  Liam squinted as Romana stood, pulling him up with her.  Their adopted daughter was unmistakable and the pair rushed to meet Abaigeal.  Romana’s tears turned to those of joy as she clutched Abaigeal for many minutes, refusing to let go.  Romana sobbed in Abaigeal’s arms.  Liam stayed back until his wife pulled him into the hug.  Behind the trio, Darkspire continued to burn; one of its towers crumbling to the ground with a roar.

            The reunion was joyous even amid the destruction, and only served to cap the victory celebration that was forming among the ranks of Hibernian expatriates and their allies.  Abaigeal introduced an apprehensive Isabella to her family who assured her there was no animosity.

            “What is in the cart,” Liam asked when everyone had calmed down enough to speak.  Abaigeal bit her lip in an attempt to hold back the tears.

*******

            The journey across Hibernia to the village where it all had started – Connla – was quick and uneventful.  The few remaining Albion occupiers were either routed or had disappeared back to their homeland once news of J’nar’s death had spread.

            Abaigeal barely had time to see her mother’s birthplace before their small band – consisting of her aunt and uncle, Isabella, and a few others – walked through the portal to Hybrasil, the home of the Sylvan people.  There the young half-celt gazed in wonder at the lush forest that – due to its impenetrable nature – had escaped most of Albion’s wrath.  And there, too, did Abaigeal see her mother for the first time. 

            The young Abaigeal watched with mixed emotions as her mother’s body was retrieved from its hidden location deep in the sylvan forests.  Her body having been protected by Sylvan magic, Keeley appeared no older than her daughter.  Abaigeal was struck by her mother’s beauty while at the same time realizing that she had perished at such a young age.  Abaigeal choked back the tears and clung to her aunt and uncle.  Despite the victory over the forces of Albion, the trip back to Domnann was a somber one.

            Outside the Grove of Domnann, the bodies of Eirik and Keeley were placed side by side; their hands clasped together.  Holding back the tears, Abaigeal performed her duty as her parents’ only kin and lit their funeral pyre.  Flanked by Liam and Romana, and under Isabella’s watchful gaze, Abaigeal watched as the fire consumed the two lovers.  The next day the party returned to Connla and Abaigeal scattered her parents’ ashes over Shannon Estuary.

*******

 

> Holy lightning strikes all that's evil
> 
> Teaching us to love for goodness' sake.
> 
> Hear the music of love Eternal
> 
> Teaching us to reach for goodness' sake.
> 
> Legends can be now and forever
> 
> Teaching us to love for goodness' sake...†

†From "Loved by the Sun" by Tangerine Dream. Lyrics by Jon Anderson.


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published September 2nd, 2019

† 

 

            Eirik Westlake walked across the aether.  He felt no exhaustion, no thirst, no pain, and no time.  He ached for nothing as he passed across plains of white aether, save for the desire to be reunited with those he loved. 

            The other side of the living realm appeared foreign yet comforting.  The sky was a white and the ground was almost as insubstantial as a cloud.  But all around were alabaster pillars that led him across the white plains.  Eirik did not care what the pillars were supporting for he felt no curiosity.  When he did look up to the sky, the pillars seems to stretch to infinity until they faded into the high heavens.

            After walking for a time that he could not measure, Eirik approached one of the pillars.  Up close the cylinder of white was mottled with azure veins.  Eirik smiled and felt a stir of emotions for what felt like the first time in his life.  He was drawn to this pillar and being in its presence gave him life again; it turned him from a wandering spirit into a person again.

            Eirik’s smile broadened.  He knew this was where he was meant to be.  He touched the pillar and it glowed brightly.  The glow enveloped him.  Eirik’s laughter was drowned out by the shout of the heavens opening up.

*******

            Eirik forgot his journey through the aether and woke up in a field next to a stream.  As his eyes opened he realized he was hearing music accompanied by singing.  It was a woman’s voice, deep and strong.  He understood none of the words but the voice was from his childhood.  Eirik stood up and looked around.

            From along the bank of the stream, his mother approached.  The proud woman who nurtured Eirik – and taught him that all life mattered – walked towards her son singing in the language of ancestors who had passed away a thousand years before.  Anora, daughter of Karl – himself son of Israel – sang to her son.  She asked for the end of death, and the end of pain.  All the while Anora smiled proudly at her son.

            Eirik felt his very being burst with happiness, but before he joined his mother, he heard a man singing the same song.  Appearing from mist behind his beloved wife strode his father, the man who had instilled a sense of compassion and duty in Eirik.

            The son of two realms, the son of both Briton and Norseman, could only stand and listen to his father.  Davyd Westlake accompanied his wife, and answered her song.  He sang of victory over death and the forces of evil.  In this afterlife, Eirik could only listen and wonder as to the meaning.

           Eirik finally ran to join his parents.  Before he could reach them, another voice took up his mother’s questions.

            “Where is thy victory?  Where is thy sting?” came a familiar voice.  Eirik wavered.  As his parents parted to allow the newcomer between them, Eirik saw his wife.  Dressed in a white gown, Keeley met her husband at the shore of the stream and embraced him.

            Eirik and Keeley came together one last time in the heavens knowing that together, through their daughter, they had secured a victory for human kind.  Abaigeal had held back the forces of evil, even if only for a little while longer.

*******

For my girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work originally conceived in 2003, partially written over the next two years, only to be abandoned until 2018, and finally published in 2019.
> 
> If you are reading the series _in medias res_ , now go read the prequel, "The Highlander and the Celt."
> 
> † Music by Paul Anthony Romero from the "Heroes of Might and Magic II" 1997 expansion pack "The Price of Loyalty."


End file.
